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.

Reviews

[John the Baptist]

This is a mysterious offering full of death images. The last two lines are particularly enigmatic, as though the speaker was dealing with some deeply held guilt. It is almost as if t he/ she was in the midst of a dream. Beyond this I can tell nothing.