Gone Lawn
a journal of literature
About This
How to Submit

Gone Lawn 32
Vernal Equinox, 2019

Featured artwork, En Sof, by brothers Fabio Lastrucci and Paolo Lastrucci.

New Works

Benjamin Niespodziany

Dr. Sky Does Not Recall the Ordering of Things

Dr. Sky buys one loaf of bread and one candle. The candle is already burning. The loaf of bread is not burning. Dr. Sky wonders if the loaf of bread should be burning. "Maybe," he says, "I'll bite the candle, I'll bite the loaf. "He doesn't know if he should swallow the candle or destroy the candle or blow out the candle. He doesn't know if he should chew the loaf or sell the loaf or worship the loaf. "Maybe," he continues, "I'll smell the candle, I'll smell the loaf." He holds the loaf and the candle both. He bites into the loaf. He blows out the candle. He pierces the bread with the candle, the two do a hiss and sizzle. Dr. Sky looks in all directions, and immediately falls asleep.

Siblings (Brothers)

The best phone signal can be found atop the lightning rod of a skyscraper. I climb up the side, look down, and flaunt my five bars to the world. A great storm forms in the back of my head. I lick my finger. I feel no wind. My brother is three times my size, already at the top incubating chicken eggs in a tent made out of turkey jerky and moose drool. My pockets full of electronics — certain a bolt will jolt me robotic. Speaking little of the night sky, my brother whittles a hickory whistle. I dial long distance. Coordinate digits into a conference call. My brother catches raccoons in cages, feeds them to the snakes that race up after us. An offering to keep the devil out of reach. Distracted. Contained. Like a dove in a glovebox. My brother crawls through the vents, between the walls. My brother hunts our hunters. I hide inside a computer, slumber with a hum. The full moon glows, the fruit bats flap massive like magic blackness, my brother's smoothed-out shooting practice. I polish my satellite dish. Future children, see me like this. Satisfied with the quiet skies, the clear heavens, my brother leaves me, climbs back down to the crowd below, and wanders a farmer 's market in search of a perfect hog. Some brothers can be hours apart on the same large street. I think I can see him, spinning silent like a period at the end of some story.

Benjamin Niespodziany is a night librarian at the University of Chicago. He runs the multimedia art blog [neonpajamas] and has had work published in Paper Darts, Cheap Pop, Pithead Chapel and various others.