Ann Arbor Review


Lana Bella
Hongri Yuan
Lyn Lifshin
Duane Locke
Elisavietta Ritchie
Michelle Bailat-Jones

Fahredin Shehu
Laszlo Slomovits
Andy N
Alex Ferde
Lekan Alesh
Michael Lee Johnson
Running Cub
Ali Znaidi
Silvia Scheibli
Robert Nisbet
Richard Gartee
Amit Parmessur

Jennifer Burd
Paul B. Roth
Sanjeev Sethi
Keith Moul
Arjun Dahal
Alan Britt
Richard Lynch
Fred Wolven
Eddie Awusi

Joanie Freeman
Hongri Yuan
Amit Shankar Saha



Ann Arbor Review

is an independent

International Journal & ezine

Copyright (c) 2017 Francis Ferde
All rights revert back to each poet.
--editor / Southeastern Florida

AAR history note:  in print 1967 - 1980.  Irregular publications 1980 - 2004.  As ezine 2004 - present. Most of 48 years all together....


Francis Ferde
Silver Grey Fox
Running Cub
Fred Wolven


Submissions via e-mail:




I saw a rabbit.
I thought it the Platonic idea of a rabbit,
Also a Quine rabbit.
I had studied under Quine at Harvard.
I saw this rabbit in Bruges, in a 5eld near the Lake of Love.
I lived in a near-by house boat.
The rabbit nibbled on a white spot at the bo/om of a green grass blade.
Much to my horror, the rabbit changed into a mechanical rabbit,
Like those that exploited Greyhounds chase at Greyhound races.
I saw this transmogri5ed rabbit as my hidden life,
The life I tried to hide from myself by the lies of self decep'on.
My life had been a game of hide and seek,
As I was always trying to 5nd myself. I never found anything,
But a 58y-dollar bill curled between new sprouted grasses.
All my search had been fu'le.
I keep thinking about what William Van Orman Quine wrote about rabbits
And the transla'ons of anthropologists.
The rabbit transformed back into a rabbit
Was nibbling another white spot at the bo/om of green grass



It is,
It is,
Going to be pleasant,
This ordinary, quo'dian,
Standard behavior demanded by the American economy fantasy.
It’s a requirement.
An'cipa'ng the boring situa'on.
I drink a full glass of water,
Think, but my thoughts are asep'c, banal, bourgeois, bromidic.
Cease thought, turn my mind into a tabula rasa.
Regret my de rigueur, a type of non-existence.
My roommate, a na've of Montenegro, is now thinking about the mot juste.
He is a master of oratorical palaver.
His occupa'on is that of a professional pallbearer. He carries co=ns
When no one else could be found that would carry the co=n.
His fees have made him rich.
He usually, especially on Sunday,
Engages in an inner 5libuster to avoid conclusion or ac'on.
He sips slowly Campari while silently 5libus'ng to himself.
But today, Ash Wednesday, he became my teacher,
Sensing my intense distress about a future ac'on.
He instructs me
To think about Herman Melville and polygamy.
Visualize, he commands, all the other wives throwing rice.
Such visualiza'on would
Will get your mind off going to job interview tomorrow.

Duane Locke, Tampa, Florida


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