They were teaching how to butcher 
the lamb 
and suspend the bines with 
drooping hops. 
I climbed out of my ashes towards 
a marinated moon turned blue in consternation. 

Warts and all, here we were ready 
to pick up the lost threads to start 
a conversation about the hurricane making 
landfall, in near future. 

After the fall, graffiti appeared on 
the clouds, spurting sperms 
on the stars. 


Satish Verma