Words smoothly floating
On the waters
Endlessly travelling
Looking for lovers
To cherish them in their hearts
Before giving them meaning
In sore lips
In lonely paper
They come to life
And learn to swim.


F.Z.N

You may never know
my disenchantment
floating languidly
in mellow water
where images
of trampled earth
mix with madness
in a playground
with children
running, jumping
to soliloquies of sadness.

I know the contours of your face
just like the streets of my hometown
          you'd squint your eyes
                 when laughing
     at the corner of Main and Dow.

Blacktooth Brewery
               on frigid Friday nights
frosted glasses, fogging breaths
and laughs caught up
               in tightening chests.
Kendrick Park can keep its towering trees
                                   and midnight charms
if I can keep your laughter with me
                       when I sail for newer shores

Something in familiar signs,
          buzzing blackened Bighorn skies,
keeps us just above the water line--
          afloat for one more night.

Sheridan Iron Works
Red, rigid lettering a raised, distant hand
Watch it wave from on the hill
above the Kendrick boardwalk,
soak December in our smiles
choking back our April cries.

Snake's head yawning
          from the I-90 exit
slithers down Coffeen and tails
          our icy footsteps
     Rattle. Rattle. Rattle.
Shake this town to its bones
with our Thurmond Street jokes
and our glowing Gould Street hearts.
I hope
          this is enough
          to buoy our ***** up
          against the weighty ballast
          of this tiny, yawning town.

Settlers of Catan
played on a windy Wednesday night
over another drowning round
of clinking Wagon Box pints.

The contours of your face,
icy streets of our hometown,
our squinting, gasping laughter
on the corner of Main and Dow.

Blacktooth Brewery.
               Frigid Friday nights.
Fogged up glasses. Frosting breaths
and laughing, clutching tightening chests.
               This freezing town
               will test your mettle.
               Settle up and bring your friends.

Like the ocean,
I am deep.
But unlike the monsters that lie beneath,
I float atop the surface,
searching for a place to sink my teeth.

There you are, floating man.
pale face against my window.
Are you standing on my bed or hanging from my ceiling?
You are facing my window, but are you peering out?
Your eyes seem closed.
My eyes are barely open.

You are wearing a red stripped shirt that pops off your pale skin.
Your wrinkles are deep. Everything about you is deep.
You seem like you are dead or dying.

It is the morning, and here you are.
just floating over my bed.
I don't know you, who are you?…

An illusion?
A dream?
A ghost?

I fall back asleep and dream about you.
I told myself you were nice and I happened upon a rare moment...
You didn't know I had woke.
You didn't know that I saw you hanging there.
You were just passing by and decided to bask in the morning rays of sun that burst through my window.
Unbeknownst to you, I was watching...


I was scared to open my eyes.
Are you still there?

Why the hell am I so calm?!?
I wake to find you feet from me and I decide to write a poem…

I'm too high and you're too low.
I miss the way we balanced each other out.

Sometimes
I feel like I'm just
f
     l
            o
a
      t
              i
  n
                   ­     g
In the insanity we call society
With the whole world
Touching my skin
But nowhere to go
And no where to sink in

By Chloe Elizabeth

Let the haunted emptiness
Let it take me away
Carry me into deep darkness
Lift me out of this day

Close my eyes with nights caress
And sleep enclose and unwind
For the relief of my stress
And I float in a dreaming mind

The morphing shadows of black
Swirl in terrifying scenes
In fear I try escape back
To such a place without dreams

Now listlessly awake I lay
Tired, but unable to rest
Sleeplessly caught in the sway
To far gone, drifting in grey

Floating, boundless, free.
Not looking around,
keeping my eyes shut
I don't like surprises.

Trying to live currently,
attempting not to think ahead
and wonder "oh - now what
should I write that sounds

deep and soulful and sweet?"
Honesty doesn't seem that
harmful when placed on paper.
In fact, nothing really does.

All my dreams, fears and
fetishes are mine alone.
I own this paper, this pen
between my fingertips.

I'm in control.
I'm not.
Constantly float, boundless, free,
sometimes I daydream so violently.

I experience terror when I realise -
I am conscious.
I am living.
All alone.