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June 10, 2024


By Sanjeev Sethi


When I kill a dithyramb rooted
in our just done row, I feel like
a mother who aborts, hardened
by hollowness of her hymnody.
Previously I was supportive of
poetry sourced from our rent,
happy with the hypothesis,
result is essential, not rootage.
Through quire of observation,
I gathered incubating contagion
of our nimiety is an effort in
otioseness. Pounded by pollen
our shores must subsist without it.

Article © Sanjeev Sethi. All rights reserved.
Published on 2022-11-07
Image(s) are public domain.
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