I was once approached by a grizzled crone, indefinitely stoned. Stoned

myself, I couldn’t help but welcome the gnarled lump of a man. Man

we were both toasted. Toasted

in the quiet of that stagnant August night, he delivered a sermon. Sermon

for the damned, perhaps. Perhaps 

I looked the part to listen. “Listen”,

he croaked: “You can never imagine a new face. Face

the facts, kid”. Kid

you not, I was so stoned I dreamt the nomadic soul before me was God. God

himself had returned to visit me on that still evening. Evening 

out my eyes, I shook God’s hand, and gave him my only dollar as an offering. Offering

his thanks, God and I parted ways, never to cross again. Again,

I was more baked than a twice-baked potato casserole from hell. Hell,

I reckon I really did meet god in some form. Form 

your own image of God, but good luck trying. Trying

to picture God, I still think of that molted man’s face.

Thomas Griffith

Thomas Griffith, a Yooper turned Wisconsinite turned Wolverine, is a midwestern poet studying Creative Writing and Literature and Political Science. Thomas often finds himself ensnared by the little things, for better or worse, and spends hours finding ways to intertwine these marginal observations with midwestern imagery. No, Thomas does not have a Yooper accent. Yes, Thomas swears Frank Ocean is a poet as much as he is a musician. Thomas' section, "Pondering Ann", seeks to encapsulate the conscious interaction between mind and self within Ann Arbor, offering a glimpse into the momentous intersections of thought and present reality. If he could capture his work in one phrase or sentiment, it would be: "Live a little, but do it in Ann Arbor".

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