Sarah Birl

BLAZES


Fleeting stillness lends lens to cradling sliced diptych trips.  The sky punctuated.  
A trapeezed rapture aperture traslatory bridge.  A parcel of pairings; lips parted 
in devotion – an offering, a promenade of sultry, dark sylvan surrender blending 
to lithe-swatch gravities of swollen aerial party frocks.  Astral pirouettes dialoguing. 



WAVE 

Lollygagging fuses only last for so long.  The orchestra has all gone home but 
still it orders me around like a throng of tongs begging to differ, turning my secrets 
into a tapas-sphere.  Dashing strings electricking me into a fess-creped 
arrangement gliding into the agua-apiary of a building I have never streamed.  
I stretch into its searchitexture.  Recite my sacred tenses.  



FLIGHT CHOREOGRAPHY

The vicarious sweep of your lunge twizzles – spoked, sprinkled. You yodel your 
tsunamis in slow-mo against the carcass of belly flops.  Reel me 
into your jollies with jujitsued yet to be’s.  I twirl your body against mine behind 
closed mascaraed screens. This is not yet.  This is not now.  
This is you missing boats and trains.  This is me pre-tourniquet.  
This is me imbibing you slowly against a tizzied horizon. This is my complexion and 
somehow you are in it.