In the furthest
places I find images
with no sound—
I see green bagels

and blue ink
on legal paper,
and the certain

loops of my father’s
Ls and Js: I scavenged
and rushed

from clue to
clue in hopes
of chocolate riches

amidst crawl space
bricks and wood
in the cellar


and somehow deeper
there is white noise
and a single blink:

stillness, and a
linear heat
on my forehead,

immense red
brick zigzags,
an intricate soft dome,
spilling on the edges.

Turner Wibbelsman is a rising senior and poetry honors thesis candidate at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. In addition to his poetry courses, he is a biology major hoping to one day attend medical school. Originally from Rumson, New Jersey, he enjoys fly fishing and rock climbing in his free time.

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