Satish Verma
Falling From A Precipice
In a chilly moment
a metaphysical shadow
descends.
I start studying in
granular detail, the substance―
cause and knowing.
The terrible. I become
an executioner; climb down
a tar pit to drown
the skulls of peers.
Everything goes in
circinate mode. A ball
of spines. You bleed,
you ache.
I want to go before
a firing squad, for not
remaining innocent.
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