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Megrims; Status Quo; Postcard by Sanjeev Sethi


I am peeved when poems look like poems. It is the same

with people. Treacle gets to me. I am good with gruffness

if that heart has a beat. It is discomforting to decode ciphers

in spaces of peradventure. Comfort lies in contextual certitudes.

I turn to switchwords when my circuit needs decluttering.

In this haze, curlicues of desire shine to your capriciousness.

The time for emotional éboulement is over. The road is ready.

Status Quo


The monsoon again picks on me.

It is time to alter the moorings of

the mind. I attempt to fine-tune

my gaze and upshift it to top gear.


I chivvy the wind to pleasure me.

But all there is a sheaf of paper

from my just done manuscript in

dance postures on the draggy floor.



With the skim of your prothalamion

still playing, I’m mindful

that I must conceive a coronach.


Unkinder turns may have occurred

to others: I’m in no

mood to be in the record business.


I grieve with you, my love. May you 

acquire the fortitude to face

the withdrawal of his care and carriage.


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