Futurist Series

June 7, 2009 /

Glass

When you are so hot

You melt, I want to blow you

Into a bottle.

You’re a work in progress.

Cradle

I’d cradle you

As the base for a corded telephone;

You wish you were cordless,

Resting wherever convenience finds you.

Manindar P. S. Suri
(from his third chapbook, Poetry My Wife Hates – Third in a Series)

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