Sanjeev Sethi


Rill between us didn’t fecundate the grange.
I no longer seek your stanchion. Our logbook
is interred in the lagan. Its folios parade our
fiber. Even ventifacts fail to catch this. Bruises
wrapped in silk and saloon aided extentions:
pretenses of group photographs aren’t for me.
Social hip-hops suit other calendars. Give me
cozying with self.

Facebook, Another View

Nook to posit clever phrases,
sapient percepts. A passage
through phraseology of brochures,
not binocular-view of back street.
It’s a shelf for self-adverts drafted
by dilettantes. One may parade 4999
yet be the loneliest log this side of sky.


I itch to read poems recorded on my skull.
Calignosity doesn’t prevent my corneas from
registering the written word. When composers
whip through their weltanschauung they pay
obeisance to ordinariness, extol the everyday
in their approximations of reality. Father, your
nuncupative intents, your velleities have been
fecundated. Do I rate these as requital?

Sanjeev Sethi is the author of three books of poetry. His most recent collection is This Summer and That Summer (Bloomsbury, 2015). A Best of the Net 2017 nominee, he has been published on six continents. Recent credits: Stickman Review, Home Planet News, Neologism Poetry Magazine, Angry Old Man Magazine, Cholla Needles, One Sentence Poems, Morphrog 16, Communion Arts Journal, Bold Monkey, and elsewhere. He lives in Mumbai, India.
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