You become a chair.
A dream sits in you
for a graphic detail of
pelvis. A trophy?
Was it undecorous to present
a cadaver walking on the earth?
A serial killer wants a plaque
on his grave after the verdict.
Saber-rattling has started,
unplucking the lovers of game.
A peltate shield in hushed silence
covers the undressing.
The prisoner of words tempers with
a mask to become a bruise.
Satish Verma
