Two poems, Quinn Carver Johnson & Todd Fuller


I have looked out to the ocean and wondered why we ever crawled out,

why, some sunny day, we followed the glistening coin of the sun

out into the air and have not stopped chasing it since. We have been

plagued by an affixation with shining, golden circles, the source of our

prayers and late-night wishes. Even the Aztecs—even J. D. Rockefeller

and J.P. Morgan—spilled blood for it; there is a reason for the distinct

taste of the American penny, the very portrait of Lincoln defiled by metal

So much depends upon your next paycheck and last month’s rent. We toil

our days away in pursuit of Life, Time, & Fortune just to buy them hot off

the press with our leftover change from the meter. We’ve traded our souls to

Henry Luce for a sample, the smallest taste of his monopoly on the American Dream.

If only we had known, we would have stayed in the water where we belong,

holding our breaths at the bottom

of shopping mall fountains,

waiting for the coins to


into our palms.


Can the distance of time be measured in glances and lost socks?

A moment only lasts ninety seconds: just a minute and a half.

I’ve heard that the chemical sensation of every emotion only

lasts that long, that every second past that—every first date,