Pry Apart a Single Pane
Avatars
Clockwork Girl at the Opera
Essay Breathless in A World of Cloud And Smoke
Grid God
Happy Pills
I Know the Science of the Thing:
Industry Lap Dog
Interim
Knives
Labor
Not From Around Here
Perfect Horses
Spring
Standing Between My Parents at Manatee Lagoon
That Dark Center
The Animals We Go to War With
The Memory Gardener
Yes
Industry Lap Dog
Sarah J. Sloat
Where do you winter, when
not running
the company, not exhaling a veil
of cigar smoke on a buttoned blue sofa?
You fall for an industry
magnate but stay married
to the antique joy of slumber, lying
coiled in crushed fur.
You tell time by the weight
of cadavers arriving by aircraft.
A rolling mill,
they descend in clandestine flight.
You would howl unencumbered
but succumb to the master’s soft fist
which splits
like a blossom; gently
it rearranges
the crowd with gunfire.
Read more »
not running
the company, not exhaling a veil
of cigar smoke on a buttoned blue sofa?
You fall for an industry
magnate but stay married
to the antique joy of slumber, lying
coiled in crushed fur.
You tell time by the weight
of cadavers arriving by aircraft.
A rolling mill,
they descend in clandestine flight.
You would howl unencumbered
but succumb to the master’s soft fist
which splits
like a blossom; gently
it rearranges
the crowd with gunfire.