Poetry

One-legged thought 
had a solitary confinement. 
Down’s syndrome frightens the catfish. 
 
The bottom dwelling 
body double, wants a compensation 
for jumping up to your lips. 
 
Not impressed, in vitro 
the black moon 
heaps a silver spoon in your mouth. 
 
The body preys on your soul. 
Are you ready to take a dip 
in the smoke coming out of the tunnel? 
 
The hard boiled tale 
of intrauterine device, seals the 
fear of life. there was no birth, no death.