The looking turned to sleep
and the sleeping was so thin:

unfreighted by memories
of half-remembered dreams,

before becoming lead vests
worn during doctor visits,

before looking like linen
winding sheets, what we

wrapped ourselves in
was not to keep ourselves

from being burned alive
by another weekday dawn.


Lines criss-cross the block
a ledger of feasts

the system of roads

saves the backyards for pets
we're responsible for

smoking hair

curled upon the neck
dolls toppled

for loss of momentum

the incompatible
waiting angrily

with tattered wings.

Click here to read the rest of issue 198

About the Author
Gary Sloboda is a writer living in San Francisco. His work recently has appeared or is forthcoming in Drunken Boat, Puppyflowers, Glitter Pony, Horseless Review, and Filling Station. In 2008, he published a chapbook entitled Pine and is currently working on a book length collection of poems tentatively and alternatively entitled Smile Land or Tremor Philosophies.

Noel Sloboda lives in Pennsylvania where he serves as dramaturg for the Harrisburg Shakespeare Festival. He is the author of the poetry collection Shell Games (2008). His poetry has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Another Chicago Magazine, Pear Noir!, nibble, and Redivider.

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