Chronicles I cached in encephalon were cliffhangers
needing to be newscast as lading of hush-hush leads
to easement. To undress emotionally to a couldn’t
careless audience is activity sans award. Artistes of
variegated shades and stripes perform to economic
and emotional gratification. Does this lend validity
to exhale wantonly?
Pursed lips breathing, as I accelerate on
the viaduct, your eyes in the rear mirror
goad me to go on and on away from my-
self. Dagger of death cleaves with finality.
In these vibrations there is no versification.
This is merely the defense of phraseology,
in speechway poems run in and out of me.
If upheavals in sexual impulse are erased
from the human vocabulary mucho of art
will be doffed from mortals.
As casual as strolling on a graveled pathway
in a close by parkland, words cycle towards
me on my inner track where ideas lap dance
with tumescent dash. The first draft is born.
This baby needs a battery of nurses and
other paraphernalia. I’m the doc on duty.
Summon the accoucheur for stillborns.
About the author:
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 nominee (2017 & 2018), his poems are in venues around the world: Poydras Review, Miller’s Pond, Litbreak, Red Savina Review, Poetry Super Highway, Ink Pantry, Amethyst Review, Beakful | Becaqée, Kathmandu Tribune, and elsewhere. He lives in Mumbai, India.