Sun Dogs
One knows the future is a myth that is always happening
a murder case reaching national news
circumstances we don’t tend to picture
lopped heads of the parasitic and the cruel
served on beds of parsley
it’s not realistic
to be happy every moment of your life
a couple of quick tips on
the battery of ourselves
the dislocated jaw of every girl I ever was
was once a girl once had
trace the path back home
but home’s a minuscule shoe
kiss mwah fucker
as you sullied your mind, the future happened
I was performing tricks along the fence
we watch while the city was bombed
Forcing Consciousness I Slide Between
Consider
all the things I have done wrong
my inadequacy and laziness, how rapidly I fall prey
to the algorithm, how easily I envy friends. To sculpt a body
is one manner of speaking. Channeled energy
beaming towards a useless solution. Light, a sudden death.
Hatred corroded in the open destination of the knife
Will you adopt my baby? Last month was a woman
calling me a bitch. Today is a thigh muscle
lapsing in a comma of cellulite, the clay predominant soil
of warm afternoons melding into solidity
plunging fingers into pussy
the hair in your eyes
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Margaret Saigh is a writer, dancer, and educator. She is the author of the chapbook CROSSED IN THE DARKER LIGHT OF TERROR (dancing girl press 2022), a graduate of the MFA program at the University of Pittsburgh, and the creator of circlet, a virtual poetry workshop and reading space. Her poems are forthcoming in giallo lit, A Velvet Giant, and Redactions.