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:






Dangers of dubiety were inherent in your smile.
It took senectitude to see it. Génoise and grief
go along: one of them is easy to share. Between
synth and unwilling sounds the self gears itself.
Echoes carry familiarity of failure, of cusps never
fused. No past is perfect: it is the wattle-and-daub
of imaginary twigs. Edited versions appeal, warn
advocates of art. Can this be razed or redacted?



Sieves through which I peep into you
are rimmed in desire I can’t decrypt.
Body has its breath, may I be permitted
to soak in your senses. Wolves will
growl. Let them. With mental agility
we will erect gated enclaves and
rustle them to a fictional menagerie.



Nakedness has its negatives: it
hits with light, ink marks and
other eyesores. When bruises do
not deny the beauteous its sweep,
that spread and its insides are for
you. As regular subscriber to rain,
I realize my error: dependence is
a disease. Goodbye at a gangplank
brighten such precepts.


Those lardy-dardy boats we let skim on sea
ply on skin when mood and moment turns
to you. Mouchoir-like happiness sublets to
fluctuations. Its intensity as sharp as at in-
cipience. To mull and masticate shivers into
specimens of poetic worth, deft at locating
aeries in far-flung arms, eggs me on to carry
this curse on the Great Rift of desires.



Incompletions gnaw instigating me
to cross swords with self. Tattooed
by nameless travesties I give into
plowing wraiths of wasted seasons
into choruses that chime: grammar
and griffonage fit in with this chute.
It’s legit to enter verboten areas via
the password of sharp practice. I live
in offbeat dimensions with altered
realities. Jet of words fly me around.
Otherness is neighborhood. Grapho-
phobia is alien. Emotional vivisection
leads to eupepsia.


Sanjeev Sethi, Andheri, Mumbai, India


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