You were trampeling on a wasp,
when sprouts
were generating Escherichia.

Dirt. Romping around. How many
corpses were there? Why can’t you
tell the exact figure?

Under the carpet the shoes will
help. The need to jump from
the rostrum? Was it not a banal show?

The giggling girls threw a
cordon around the sheep. The
trembling flesh. Somebody walked

away with the chopped head.
Weeping. No the severed head
was laughing.

It was an open book.
How to make the beds on street,
and then lie naked.

Satish Verma