The Coast
Not every sentence
means the moon falling,
I manage to stammer.
In the dark, in the shadow
of the memorial,
grass glows a half-life
lighting up a room.
But are we outside—
I pinch myself, sleeping,
but I don’t remember.
There’s wind in my mind,
the last light turned off
in the gymnasium,
pelagic silence,
an echo of starlight
left on a lens, a watchman
guarding town from the dark.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stations in Constellation
Everything you ever
came up with a name for
in avoidance
the water
too cold for swimming
rain exploding pollen, everything
you sold off quarters
of the army after us
forever, for each mistake
put off till tomorrow
the mistaken and unglued
scolded and switching
direction and rotation
for impenetrable living
all you desire
for everything you ever
had
I had everything when
in praise of when
I might decide
the name for making a decision
for the cold cotton you were
caught in a rainstorm in
in each of us
and vacant transmissions
light blinking on in the moment of the radio
fashioning another stand-in everything
lived in
a resistance
Following you in a separate car
----------------------------------------------
Seth Landman