I’d warn him, if I could.
He’s just like you. In this way
he is your enemy, not a match.
You’re perfect for each other.

I wander on

lights blast over the stage. I
am ushered out, pushed
through the emergency exit
while you valiantly hold my
skull up to your face and laugh.

Remember me when the applause dies.

Remember that our journeys
are circular. We start and finish
in the same place and, when we’re
done, we see our story with fresh eyes.

You and I were Rome, you and he the Reich.

The sky is wounded, I can’t sleep.
Nothing but a red, dying gash
above the horizon. The dead
starlight bleeds across the universe
and I wander about the mist. I wonder

How do we get so lost?

I’m on a bus, a thousand miles away.
I look out through the filthy window
watching the interstate rush by. All
the lines blur. A cigarette flies out
of a window. A tire explodes. A car is
lost in the darkness.

Bridges stretch over rivers, rivers
stretch over landscapes, landscapes
stretch out of sight. No more
stars, no moon. Yellow light radiates
off the tollbooths. I sit alone

wondering, wandering,

trying to figure out if I should get off
at the next stop or just ride this bus forever.

Nathan Noyes’s poem “Transient” won first prize in 2014 in the Second Annual School of Visual Arts Writing Program Contest. He is a senior majoring in Photography.