DARK CORNERS

On a wrinkled trajectory 
the blood averts to abstract remission, 
I am out of place in time and history. 

Try to nudge the jumping ants 
with their cyberweapons 
ready to strike the antique nectaries 

of judgements. The predators were 
coming. Killing for long necks and 
pinkish lips. You envision a period.. 

of dearth for visage, for phrases 
of dead skins: I start dismembering 
the past, contained in future. 

This was a total disaster of unknowing, 
adrift between the fingers; 
sands of time, ungrained, unwatered.

Satish Verma