Sarah Sarai

So Speaks Art

 
Nature’s fab! Death says Hello! Look at that penis! Watch out, a satyr! The waves, the waves! I heart martyrs! What a cleavage! Fruit’s pretty! Victory! Defeat! Haystacks! The holy trinity sure like to sit! Breasts don't sag! Everyone has a penis! I need a smoke! That chick in black? Dig her groovy smile!



 
 
Superlunary

 
i.
the body desecrated
the body A-OK
the humours volcanic
the humours chirping
sensibilities of isolation
sensibilities, hello
dreams piled ash
swept, nuthin lost
reason all formal
pick-up-sticks
 
ii.
the lamb of God force-fed
the body bone and marrow
the body an afterthought
flesh an afterthought
the something else begs
            for flesh and soul
 
iii.
holy cafeteria dinner
meat-like, mashed-like, corn-
            and pea-like
holy the donut
the dazzle of glaze
 
 


 
A Bad Spell in the Life of This Poem

 
In bed and restless,
this poem counts syllables.
She’s a real American,
a self-styled self-improver.
 
Afoot by day, she’s   
on the make for a new
new - synchronicity
for one - and screaming F-off,
 
stupid soul-crusher-
world of rich thugs with fear-
knives, our bosses, bridge and tun-
nel elite creep 1%-ers.
 

 
 
Sarah Sarai is an independent editor in N.Y.C. Her poems have been published in Barrow Street, Ethel, Mom Egg, Zocalo Public Square, The Southampton Review, and other journals. Her collections include That Strapless Bra in Heaven, Geographies of Soul and Taffeta and The Future Is Happy. She votes.

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