Four Poems

by Sanjeev Sethi


Plantigrade moves floor no votary of
terpsichore. Each play is its own pietist.
Step-up the moral codes subscribed to.
Enlist your energy. Cold-shoulder the
commentariat. Brush off the ignoramus
or the experienced. Brakes are for bums.
If truth is your trademark there will be
a smattering of supporters. The crooked
always have callers. Snitch to yourself.


Snippets of myself sneak into you
as easily as you gargle germs into
my system, alloy of intimacy. I
don’t possess vitamins to pace with
your levels, loving you is to convert
a boxing rink to bedstead. Monomania
of being a benedict isn’t mine. There
is no beta-reader. Some books aren’t
meant to-be.


Requisitioning me to edit impartations
is a way to superannuate emotionally.
What I understood but could never
utter now puffs on its own. When I
disrobed more as pattern than pleasure,
you blunted my bid. I firmed my lips,
accepted the abuse of orthodoxy.


Assuredness of the written word hides
its hesitancies. Conversation illumines
its face. We’re more than our moves
or the lack of them. The coop is privy
to my coarseness. It superintends cross-
currents within me, some of which I’m
not wised to. Collective of bodily cells
pitch in for us—ferly and all.

Sanjeev Sethi is the author of three books of poetry. He is published in more than 25 countries. Recent credits:  Talking Writing, Packingtown Review, Abstract Magazine, Sandy River Review, The Five-Two, Aromatica Poetica, Sunday Tribune, The Poetry Village, The Cabinet of Heed, and elsewhereHe lives in Mumbai, India.

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