When crookedness lights every corner
how do I wear the cloak of conscience?

We fill ourselves with the chicanery of cats
or the golden mean of the creative impulse.

Art is a date stamp without a mark: When losses
border your brief nonchalance scans the insignia.

I couldn’t find you under cover of the cosmic
so I hinged our home in the subconscious.

Multiform impressions cover your cut and mine:
The dead are the easiest to unfollow on SocMed.




Sanjeev Sethi
Picture Nick Victor




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