Page 20 - silent_secret

ANONYMOUS

In a cold dawn
Covering, my hands in a muff,
Choosing an unguarded or even a bulldogless doorstep
I shall leave this baby a bundle of
This mass of entrails, rags -
May be it will cry to herald
The dawn of my dark dreams
Crying 'Blast my life',
In the pale moonlight sliding on the tender leaf
Wet: with lawn frost
The poet slips
On the East Lanes road he rubs on his nosp
The tar sticking to an abandoned poppy flower
Lullabying ,the transistor singing morning songs
Inhaling the steam of early morning tea
Biting on the whiskey from the flask
Groping along life's radius ,to the surrealistic
circumference

Coaxing the recalcitrant red-ink pen to write
Resulting only in a spurt into Noman's gland
Befriending in books rowdy poets Jeff Nuttal.
William W antling, Ellen Jackson
Who bray in bazaars and cry like bulls committing
poetic abortions.

I wail : I'm not the only one -
Like floodlit Brindavan Gardens
Like the spines of tobacco leaves of Guntur Companies
This baby I shall abandon
On a newspaper office steps.
By next issue time
The foundling will cry for it's milk.