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Steven Breyak

On Soft Terror

17 August 2010
Vol. 10, No. 2

How many public sinks left running for ghost hands?

Your change given in foreign coins and still

coming up short. Imagine all the salt shakers

loosened upon the world; names scrawled into sidewalks;

people who hate people and work in services

you have to tip; patrons making waitresses cry right now.

Lot's Wife's Lot

14 August 2010
Vol. 10, No. 2

Poor dear, she'll never get to disappear

until we tire of her taste. Like the minute hand

that doesn't move, our eyes' formaldehyde

keep her glued. And our literature, like her,

stares forever back at nothing much left.

Three Dreams of Waking

27 October 2008
Vol. 8, No. 3

When I woke in our small boat I knew

only the sound of water. His words were

something else the night had changed.

He had not noticed my sleeping

or chose to ignore it. His story, perhaps,

something he needed to release:

the black world holding him close

and alone for his act.

Aunt Sophie Had a Stroke When I Was Eight

30 October 2007
Vol. 7, No. 3

Though her eyes had kept like marbles,

her tongue was a broken See 'n Say:

people and places but never a story…

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