By sleight-of-hand her fellow copulator keyed into a studio of sheets and walls a matching floral, a singing room from Les Parapuilles de Cherbourg, autrefois, and copped a snatch of her warm brain to sell on a green island glittery like Dr. Moreau’s. San Francisco nights in a lair were squawked by the ruffian-breed, half- human blue jays, half over the edge with details like frayed twine odd strands of hair and sweet grass scattered on sheets red as sky aching that daylight stay and stay. The selling was cheap. But ] the punishment nil. Another saint-lost-in-ecstasy, this woman beyond reach of a million stupidities, zip-locked against smirks and legalities of any too- eager for facts.
Sarah Sarai’s Geographies of Soul and Taffeta was published by Indolent Books.