Semi-Finished Goods

(Prairie Sea Flotilla, 2025)

A collection of erasures & extractions – taking the form of a product manual – exploring profit, production, emptiness, and the Upper Midwest.

32 pages / Designed and edited by P.S.F. / Printed in East Grand Forks, MN by Prairie Smoke Press / October 2025 / First edition of 150.

Prairie sea flotilla

Forgotten Frequencies

(NDSU Press, 2023)

32 pages / Published in a hand-numbered edition of 280 by NDSU Press in December 2023 / Printed in Braddock, ND at the Braddock News Letterpress Museum / 2024 Eric Hoffer Book Award finalist / 2024 Midwest Book Award finalist / Winner of the 2023 Poetry of the Plains & Prairies Award.

NDSU Press

“Forgotten Frequencies begins with '... a grumbling / in the belly of this city.' and never lets up in its deep explorations of the ecology, history, persona, and dynamic of the place it emerges from…The poems feel like they're speaking to all of us, making us converse with one another, enabling us to think about where we came from and why. '”

-Brett Salsbury, author of Surrender Dorothy

“The fundamental frequencies of this rural prairie music are beginnings, bewilderment, the necessity of breaking free, death and its mystery, and above all, love. These poems sing and sing back and will continue singing in your ear and heart long after you put this necessary book down.”

-Athena Kildegaard, author of Prairie Midden

“As the collection concludes, strains of rural music span barren fields and souls, and rural solitude borders the urban, where ‘green lawnmowers whine / like children woken early / to complete some dull assignment.’”

-The Eric Hoffer Award

Listen to three poems from Forgotten Frequencies:

FORGOTTEN FREQUENCIES: Live in St. Paul!
August 17, 2024

 

There’s a grumbling / in the belly of this city. / You can hear it at the bottom / of the swimming pool in summer. / Some say it sounds like static / from an old TV, but slow— / which is like the sound / of the snow falling / on all sides of my car, / parked by the edge of a stubble field / in January. / It is dusk . . .

There’s a grumbling / in the belly of this city. / You can hear it at the bottom / of the swimming pool in summer. / Some say it sounds like static / from an old TV, but slow— / which is like the sound / of the snow falling / on all sides of my car, / parked by the edge of a stubble field / in January. / It is dusk . . .