Torn Pages # 24

Those aged sages

with whom I completed my sentence


Are they still there?


With their sacrosanct sneezes

in their torn plastic bags


It took them ages to

discover what all was eaten


kind savages

who rummaged for my halo

in their hollow pockets


When ‘it’ was not found

they put me in that cage

where rage melts with time

and then they sold me in less than a dime.



A (dot)

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