Gone Lawn
a journal of literature
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Gone Lawn 4
Summer, 2011

Featured painting, Steakhouse Grand Opening, by Daniel Dove.

Featured Excerpt & Review

George J. Farrah

It Was on Again Today

It was on today again the certain interruption of wide eyed being through thick greening up it startled and fear, hard to believe near all the persons that another report, when that pink sky shook itself asleep. It's the raccoons and rabbits and skunks dilating at night maybe or a relaxed crawling to the couch. I became a figure covered with newsprint before a campfire. The freeway enters like a needle, an older child with a narrowed look, don't underestimate it what amount of pop and water and iced coffee it takes, the trouble with undervaluing nature when we do so many things well, I love the feeling around a tight curve. Then it flashed again I had heard it when finally the rain and no tornado fingers of earth stretching. The diner is cold keep out the, a 20 minute walk and a long dog raced by me suddenly stopped a long way off and barked furiously. If I give up the latinates ex-Catholics might like me. K. says you must sink down into it to learn what you have refused to choose so that you can. It was a screen or car radio that told me of it again a whole year went by neighbors complaining about the stench found I feel guilty about plastic lighters, little bugs can make it through the screen at night liking the windowshade and corner of the ceiling let alone the lamps, when I am really hungry cheese is good a house or building shrinks around me before I take care of it, what does it mean neighbors take a year to really ask about air conditioning and coffee are necessities to me these days when I was younger I thought, we talked about it coming on again and couldn't believe we had to go back and exchange the tapes for CD's. what does it mean that police found sketches of it stuffed in the, there is a little league ball park right next to the highway so that it faces the road with the builders name on it what if a hard hit, I came home after looking for someone, a few months all meals restaurant. It is surprising the mood swings driving alone on a long trip even on sunny days, do we really believe what someone wears? The northern lights it is strange to walk in the country at night fire flies a carton of eggs I feel like punishing myself after allot of compliments, during the day at night when it came on it was said a freezer was used, and boxes a cop carried a stack of them out, large clothing boxes, it happens all the time I guess it depends on where you find comfort on a terribly hot day, the trees seemed to lift and float a little as the sun went down.

The Long Heavy

Left over soup for the invalids. By 3:45 pm they had made it into the empty kitchen, quietly hidden behind the mixers and food cages. The truck ran smoothly from the back. They set up sausage and spaghetti stands, the invalids snuck out the back immediately before this and got their kites up. Ransom notes fluttered down various places in the park, "Eyes for Limbs" unequivocally stated, printed on lavender business cards on one side only. Pink eyes only apprehend the actual import. By then it was almost too late; many many limbs were made found or donated; shipments of sight returning on clothing lines home screens when wipers began again deep in sun where they had started anyway; shivering figures eating long movies would suddenly come to throw them down and attack each other. A diagnostic wonderland, running into trees with eyes wide open.

"If this doesn't bother you guys?"
Is it enough, she thought after hearing this implicit expectation wrapped up, putting the notation out where everyone could see it, to prove it was not an option, that would become endless anyway, you shivered swallowing my shade to leave find it all again, "always unnecessary to look is it?" She noticed the stubble first then the limp but ducked anyway knowing anyone could be a boss here. The crossed portions of thinking it is all a movement gathering or shedding in the gasp for the meaning of it, reaching the fountain a deft delivery of cup and quiet scrutiny of this arriver.

The detective swallowed the neon sign neatly. The plants urging one another through the gold foil. Similarly each green board filled with pink chalk. The messages left were direct but understated. Adding up to a human animal crises, gin. The tougher it got hand creams and baking soda. Forever running out of tooth paste. Smiles were minimal but important. She threw it behind her back. How appropriate working for a travel agency. As the detective arrested her, he thought about this.

The cells of the fishery contained no fish which was not unusual and everyone knew this anyway. He had let her go after she told him that, he not being local. "You'd think he would have researched this before arresting me. Everyone paranoid because of the kite people, i guess."
Research. The Grand wig. Byte hurt info. She bigged it down sent him.
Knew the reach world. Set back untangling, setting bobbers. Working
for the bait and tackle shop gave time to these tense things.

He built a hallway of pillows. Guests were usually anxious.
A tolerable conclusion was reached before her package arrived.
Once opened he was certain of it. The little creatures in the long heavy
gables could feel the shout, "The next time I will arrest everyone!"
A marsupial dandy he reassured reaching. Counter tugs of wind trough the house scattered his ego and he felt much better about this. Quite a disguise he thought to himself.

George J. Farrah lives, writes and paints in Minneapolis Mn-
He teaches part time in the SCSU art department.
He feels lucky to be able to do any of this.