From Anchorage to Zebulon: In Search of Missed Connections
Ghosts by Emanuele Toscano
Last night,
after we fell asleep,
I heard the people
that we used to be
get up and leave.
-Bison Jack
I heard that
we used to get up last
and be the night
we leave
after people
fell asleep
Fragments of Our Reality by Justin S. Campbell
Before I try to fix you, be sure
you want me to piece you back
together again, he said.
I don’t want you to fix me, she
said, I just need you to hold me
and I will fix myself.
–Bison Jack
I want you to be sure
you don’t want me to hold back
I just will
I need piece before
I try to
fix myself
you and me together again to
fix you
fix me
he said
she said
you
Smokey Hourglass by Sabastiano Pitruzzello
There are two fruit flies
gripped to the ceiling of this
plane; perhaps they are
runaways with ephemeral
dreams or simply stowaways
in a time machine running
from impermanence like me.
–Bison Jack
There
in a ceiling
are two stowaways
perhaps they are like me
fruit flies
running with dreams
or simply gripped
to this ephemeral plane
runaways from the time machine
of impermanence
nocturnal damn stories by neliO
We are our stories,
not our religion or the color
of our skin. We are searchers and
seekers, dancers and dreamers,
questions without answers in
an endless conversation.
–Bison Jack
the
conversation or
an endless answer without questions
of dreamers, dancers, seekers, searchers
we are in
our skins
our color
and religion
and we are not our stories
Bare Soil in a Snowy Field 2 by Jereme Rauckman
It doesn’t matter how long
the journey takes or how many
times you have to change course
because you are lost and can’t
find the words to retrace your steps.
Even on the days when you struggle
to breathe because every metaphor
is closing in, or those nights spent
drowning in the darkness of lost
smiles and similes, dig deep, leave
no stone unturned, gather what
you need, for a poem will only
reveal itself when you have
nothing left to give.
-Bison Jack
It doesn’t matter how long
the journey takes or how many
times you have to change course
because you are lost and can’t
find the words to retrace your steps.
Even on the days when you struggle
to breathe because every metaphor
is closing in, or those nights spent
drowning in the darkness of lost
smiles and similes, dig deep, leave
no stone unturned, gather what
you need, for a poem will only
reveal itself when you have
nothing left to give.