PREDATORY

Surge of rage in domes of violence 
skins the history, becomes a frozen embryo 
of genetic markers, shimmers in society, 
race and native shirts. 

Enters into the creation of a saga 
accomplished by advancing poppies; 
there was no connection to ancestors. 

Brutalizing golden dawn 
leaves a bitter taste. 
They were fighting with broken swords. 

Virgin flesh becomes moon face, 
bloats for a fatal jump, 
on to the widow’s peak 
of a dancing star at sun-set point. 

The innocence cleaves the night 
to implant the bride’s lips. 
I am lost in a sheared landscape 
there is no singing tree.

Satish Verma