Scuttling

A Poem by Satish Verma

Scuttling

Enfant terrible.
I disown myself,
and try to follow my
occult intution.

Crossing the magnetic
field, I become neutral.
You will have to
collect my tears.

There will be no anniversary
of the funeral,
I will die imperfectly.

Failed to kiss the uninviting
throat of the knife. It
went straight into
my unread anthology.

Your smile will chase me
like a black spider. Its lethal
venom was painless.

Black and blue, if
I could perspire in the
freezing snow of the flames.