satishverma

My Religion Sinks

This was the abduction of god.
You were shedding your plumage.
My Ars Poetica is showing the nude moon.

Visiting Lesbos once, you
filled the heat in your hands. You called
to murder the most innocent.

Sylvia Plath was broken.
The pungent smell was coming from
burning verses. You never asked for the blood game.