My perception of “lost” is when a human being loses all perception of life and prioritizes something, a substance for example, that will ultimately and quickly lead to their mental deterioration and death. Unfortunately, once an individual “loses” themselves to something, they no longer have any idea of who they are or what was once important to them, instead, they live day by day chasing their addiction. The one and only thing in this world that we truly “own” is ourselves, our individuality as a human being is the one thing no one can take from us. Once that is sacrificed for something, an addiction, we become lost. Once we no longer own ourselves, what have we got left?

-Sean Michael Gloria, Colorado Springs

An arm hangs out of the window as trees blur by, as time grins past, and it shakes in the rushing air like a dying leaf of a tree. Pale blue eyes groom the landscapes as they rush away, farther and farther from the gloomy concrete block homes of his present and past. His arm traps a raindrop as the clouds and thunder loom above, and he pulls his fingers back into the car, numb with cold yet burning with the fires of his blood reclaiming their fleshy vessels. He has never ridden this far from home before, but he had no choice. A new place, a new future. His parents drove; he was too young to have a say in these things, but….

In coming years, hurricanes came and went, lakes formed where streets once had been, and the boy’s relocation became a success. The black clouds kept spilling their crystal water. His sodden face was out-dazzled even the hidden stars. Time seemed to be never ending, forever, with bayous and alligators and marshlands…. Beauty was everywhere, where pollen sticks to your soles.

But the world was always changing. Drought follows excessive bounty. The boy’s health begins to fail. He is now a man and there are moments of intense beauty that still bring tears to his eyes, but not in the same way, softer. In his hand he holds a contraption that he’s carried inside his pocket since he was a small boy, a pendulum—it has taken his whole life to acknowledge its reality. It flashes in the sunlight as gravity pulls it one way and it almost seems to stall before it rushes back into shadows and back again into the light, until he puts it back into his pocket.

-Spiridon Konofaos, Tampa

Semper Fidelis

The Night brings me wine.
Merlot fills my glass while
he fills my mouth with a kiss.
I drink them in. Both are dry.

Chardonnay waits in the cellar
like I waited for you in our bed.
A bottle for each year. Forty-Nine
left collect dust. Merlot will do
for tonight. So will he.

Warmth floods my chest.
I drown my mind in Merlot.
He drowns me with words
that taste like Chardonnay.

He pours me onto our bed,
then pours himself into me.
The glow of headlights flow through
the window and across the ceiling.

Then they’re gone.

The Night leaves by morning.
Cold wrinkled sheets fill your side
of our bed. The warmth faded from
them like his taste from my mouth.

The Morning brings crisp sheets.
Your wedding band envelops my finger
and silence envelops our house – heavy like
the casket I buried your medals in.

-Katelyn Soja; Fairport, New york

Lost in your mind.
Thoughts running through.
Replaying the good and the bad.
Wondering about the future
and other things. Being trapped
in certain memories.

Lost in the music.
The song that plays exactly how you’re feeling.
The lyrics that sing your unconscious thoughts.
Being surrounded in a crowd
that’s all singing and dancing along to your favorite band.
Loving your life.
Remembering what you love and reliving
those experiences through your speakers.

Lost in love,
the idea, the fact, the dream, the feeling.
Wishing, hoping, wanting, having a special someone.
Admiring, enjoying, loving, snuggling
the warm feeling after a kiss.
Not caring about anything else in the world
but the person in your arms.

Lost in your job.
Work, work, work,
fun, amazing coworkers,
unforgettable experiences, opportunities, nights, days,
inside jokes, stuck at a desk, annoying phone calls
weird customers, messages unanswered,
lost in having so much to do.
Living a scheduled life with appreciation.
Do what you want.

Lost in stress.
Questioning everything,
doubting yourself, complaining, worrying,
Do not let things get to you.
Stress is a monster, a struggle. Natural
relaxation is not as hard as you think.

Lost in the media.
What’s in, what’s out.
Figuring out where you fit in.
Wondering why our news is so fucked up.
Wishing that things were actually peaceful.
So many issues to be covered, so little time.

Lost in drugs.
Smoking until all you can think about
is smoking more. High, reaching the sky.
Hallucination, infatuation, imagination, fascination,
thinking, perceiving, wondering why
you don’t feel like that at all times.
Being in a different world, mindset,
inspiration in different forms,
addiction, controlling, making sure
you aren’t lost in the back of a cop car.
Moderation, observation, association, legalization.

Lost with friends who know you,
hang out with you, advise you, inspire you.
Make you laugh, care, love, besties.
Making new friends, lost in the track
of time you spend together or drift apart.
Friends are the ones you can go to
no matter what happens they got you.

Lost in art, in any form, expression,
imagination, beautification,
colors of any shade, bright, gray, black, white
shadows, photographs, graffiti, writing, listening,
being lost in something you could never imagine
developing a love, a taste, an image.

Confusion.
Never really knowing.
Assuming, questioning, upsetting,
frustration. “Fuck my life.”

Losing your favorite thing,
something important, something needed.
Searching, waiting, wanting, finding.

What happens, what you find, what you’ve lost,
what you forget, what you miss, who you lose,
relevant, irrelevant, does it matter?

Get lost, go explore, try not to forget.
Just make reminders.

-Kristin Stigaard, St. Petersburg

The past is nothing more than a reflection
mirrored by skewed remembrances,
amalgamated dreams and representations;
whereas the present is nothing more than
a feel, a thought, a word, a sentence.
As you read this, and let the lines past
bleed into a message,
remember that
it no longer is, just as memories of childhood
just bleed into what you can recall,
a feel, a smell, a sound, a sight.
The past is just a star,
still visible but no longer there, lost
among black empty space.
Just as the stars
inspired the past,
the past inspires the present, 
not from its being, but from its absence,
the reflection on a black night,
skewed by what we now live with:
a feel, a thought, a word, a sentence,
a message: nothing more.

-Andrew Deloucas, Tampa.

-Ashley Niven, Tampa

“Never alone in horizontals and verticals.”

-Fawn Testa, Tampa

         The tops of the tall grass shake and roll as I imagined they would. The naked viper slithers beneath like a fish in the water, completely and utterly within her element, able to strike at anytime but the chase is what is most thrilling. So, she waits. And waits. And waits ever so diligently, the way a frog waits on a fly letting the prey do all the work. But even more diligently and effortless, like a Venus Flytrap. The predator is one with the ground beneath its scaly complexion so much so that I’m blind to its presence. It’s not even there. God, I am a wreck. My stomach is in a balled up knot, mashed and crushed to a pulp. It hurts. It’s making me sweat. And cry. I can’t afford that in this heat. I’ll just sit– wait out the pain. That tall grass keeps moving and the only thing I can think of is when that breeze is going to hit me. That would feel just fine right now, a breath of fresh air. But it never comes and so the sweat cascades in beads down my face like runners racing for the prize. The pulp that is my stomach is now throbbing in a constant beat. It’s the metronome from hell. Fetal position. This usually helps but now it’s getting dark. Is that my unbalanced mind making it so or is the sun going down? I can’t tell. The sweat has now pooled around my head. To a passerby I would appear to be lifeless. But my feelings are quite the contrary. Every cell is on fire with biting passion. I’m burning from the inside out yet I’m alive and I can’t stand it. Now I know, the viper kissed me.

-Bob Soto, Orlando

-Justin Volz, Sarasota

Portfolio

7/1/10 10:47 PM

I sit somewhere between and on top of my own expectations for myself and the expectations others have of me. They overlap, but not in a way that wins the three-legged race. Instead, they cut into each other.
Slicing each other at the legs. They beat the shit out of each other until one wins.

I feel as though no matter where I step, I am letting one down. The way that I have learned to function has always pinned myself against myself…
Either way, one always loses.

-Gina Moccio, Tampa