you are in the diode archives fall 2010




This emptiness is normal, they tell you—
how you float inside your own mind
like a buoy cut from its line,
wandering in a sea of darkness, unable
to perceive current or tide.
This is normal, the way it should be.
What’s more—you will never know different
or recognize change until after
the fact.  Nothing of you will remain,
so there is no sense in remembering
who you were before.  All that’s left is to
keep moving until your feet touch land,
pull yourself safely to shore.



“Here is this sextant, useless in my hand”
                —Sandy Longhorn

There is no chart to navigate these open seas
in which I am lost; no table of values
for me to plot my course.  No father
taught me how to harness the wind, or
speak with the Anemoi in their private tongue.

This is the definition of my insanity:
I have searched you out my whole life
knowing you could not be found, that you
don’t want to be found.  In my hands
I finally hold the tools to live without you
but in the end you are still all I really want.


I know I should have something more to say
but what else is there? We both know there are
no words, no maps to navigate our shared terrain. 


Justin Evans teaches in rural Nevada, where he lives with his wife and three sons.  Recent poetry has appeared in Barn Owl Review and Sugar House Review.  His is the author of three chapbooks. His first full length book, Town for the Trees, is being released in 2010 by Foothills Publishing.