Two Poems by Sanjeev Sethi
On the bedstead another one direct and diaphanous begins its boogie.
On the bedstead another one direct and diaphanous begins its boogie.
Whoever is holding the book is the beloved in some sense.
prison guard’s hand on roses, eyes, leather belt
Every ‘I,’ every eye, is political
She’s staring dreamily at the bronze figures, life-size, in full gallop, cascading from their marble pedestal.