The stanchless flow of feeling
whipped by your side has me
deliberating on your dominion
of my dealings. I no longer
fleer at weaknesses in vaunt.
Grooves of genuineness move
in slow mo. Wisenheimers pace
differently. In fullness of your
fulcrum you seek no decoy.
I’m placed at another angle.
Relationships grant emotional usufruct:
steadiness marks the share. Pamphlets
of my love plague. Those wanting me
to always walk on air are an ordeal. When
all of me is ill, it’s a bit thick to be calm
and composed. Let me sink feelings in a
sag bag for their sting to dilate. Do not
wing empty words. It’s kosher not to kvell.
Don’t show up querying for love
not even its leavings. Hickories of
its heat lit our assembly. You stayed
away from the scald. The staircase
was tortile. I tried to be in sync with
myself. Just-milieu is a worthy aim,
not everyone realizes it.
Soaked in the ink
of injurious shade
my poems carbon
my cage. When a
peruser in a pensive
mood inquires, why
are they gyrose?
What do I say?
I wish I could
let readers crawl
through the contours
of my circus.
Sanjeev Sethi is the author of three books of poetry. His most recent collection is This Summer and That Summer (Bloomsbury, 2015). His poems are in venues around the world: The Best of Mad Swirl: v2017!, Poetry Super Highway, The Metaworker, Vox Poetica, The Five-Two, Pyrokinection, After the Pause, A Restricted View From Under The Hedge, Ink Pantry, Amethyst Review, Bold Monkey, Ethos Literary Journal, and elsewhere. He lives in Mumbai, India.