Counting The Steps
When saline drowns the lips,|
my words tremble.
Almost I stumble upon
the fish house spilling the vertebrates.
I had given them, the name
to the swirling limbless thoughts.
One by one they come on the edge
and blow the ashes, towards me.
You always dream of a procession
of dead bodies under the window.
In the little study, you are
afraid of leaning walls.
And you say you were responsible
and to be held accountable.
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