Prageeta Sharma

It was just a momentary untruth in my way,
bodies of the crowd blocked the big blue outside.
...

There's a structure for idiocy—lamplight—
all over the nation; it's an illumination
...

After being humiliated one continues the manuscript of identity.
Activities, diseases, doldrums, the crony affair after the situation,
...

It was not a romantic sentiment, nor self-determined; rather, it was embarrassing.
My love of spearheading, from introvert to extrovert,
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more so than we did before, but now we know what to do with them.
We hang our troubles on them and wipe our shoes against them.
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All this noisy commotion isolated a fairly
small universe of nothing special.
I had faced the assistant to the incumbent,
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Clatter into the window this late night.
We were flabbergasted, tired
of the newly-minted drunks and meth-kids
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I find ways to keep a sense of peace
but it is not always easy; for example,
I can't keep my questions tempered.
What kind of sun expounds its rays
...

The forest service team came to my house to give me a thin-leafed tree,
and to say you can have something, if you wish.
You can have this native tree, a skinny branch, a skinny leaf
...

Do not fall in love with a poet
they are no more honest than a stockbroker.
...

Some formula for sacred council as not to weep
into the meadow grass. And a man that frequents
open fields to scale for insects or the representation
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There are silverfish bugs across the window sill
in the white house. He says: my name is Jug Dish,
and you are pointing west when you say dish-desh
...

There is nothing to really note in this world

you might say. But since crescent moons
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My sweetie's underpants have argyles on them and grip his
thighs.
O his European underpants with pastel colors,
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There are populated gestures
in the dining room where we become public
partners of a compromise. If I never lift this explosive
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Ring the changes on or take up the cudgels for,
to toe the line
and ride roughshod over,
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The glove was lost under the twinkling of night, under the premise
of an open pocket and led me to the question of captivity with a brass
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The poem started in Providence
where something begun in my head
but continuous then I could imagine.
...