Tuesday, 1 September 2015

Poetry 2015, Featured Writer Manik Sharma

Cage

My manor is the purchase
of my time; and it is cadenced

in bricks, as if
to drive, every sound, out

the door. My design
exists, because it perfects

ideas of unlimited thought,
as scrapings on the inside, where

reclined against the walls,
are broken wheels of spring.

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