Sam Langer
can’t believe this still happens
what did i grow up for
sliding over the floor
giant hands with bitten nails
the problem with you is not my slave
dye chains’ve entered the system now
what happens next?
never find out
new memories
waiting for summer to invent ouzo
season changes
she turns my poetry bad
(responsible attitude
first scratched on a tusk)
stuff lies around
as though left there
to be worshipped
easy enough
but just try it
cross the threshold
from leather jacket to god
or even back to cow
magic not religion
god opposes desire
but then god is desire again
driving us out
sound of cars and birds
pens falling to the floor
stop for a while
as he's in your hand too
turning it bad
between thumb and forefinger
perhaps they converge
a new precursor
between two sensitive plates
crashing together
further and further away
is a form of crushed
stone thinking of her
not addressed to her
and certainly not for
cui bono
so never send it
but weave it thru the lip
talked about the sound plenty
of words happening
meant
“pen” to “paper”
a kind of slight
what to call it
flippant dealing
with quartered debris
as magic fades and fades
comes back
is gone
a simple hunting song
^ ^
sifting back through cold thumbed flakes
frost on my nose
spreading to my legs
^ ^
years in days
^ ^
a new century
only noticed yesterday
so much not so much
under as after radar
pregnant with dawn reactions
but dressed to go out at night
get civilised
and gout
blunt with important lies
dust dolmens
a new person
as soon as write it
age with the alphabet
need to spread
translates to bread
trapped in a single cave
warren of bifurcations
will of places to sit down
andrew of distant waves
the cheek to be distracted
helped beat the animals
in a flash
flood of inventions
she occupied my flexible enemy detector for a while
sweet lemon
paranoia
dripping in bed
back to the waterhole
calculating the sun
by glitters
round a buffalo's laps
but where’d it come from?
psychic realism causes affairs
Sam Langer was born in February 1983 and then finished a B.A. in May 2007. He lived in North Fitzroy (: Melbourne: Australia) for 26 or so years. He moved to Berlin (Germany) in October 2011 (“I got no reason to be there / but imagine it would besome kind of change”). He edits Steamer. His work has appeared in a few different places, including Otoliths, The Age, Cordite, John Tranter’s The Best Australian Poems 2011, and Steamer.
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can’t believe this still happens
what did i grow up for
sliding over the floor
giant hands with bitten nails
the problem with you is not my slave
dye chains’ve entered the system now
what happens next?
never find out
new memories
waiting for summer to invent ouzo
season changes
she turns my poetry bad
(responsible attitude
first scratched on a tusk)
stuff lies around
as though left there
to be worshipped
easy enough
but just try it
cross the threshold
from leather jacket to god
or even back to cow
magic not religion
god opposes desire
but then god is desire again
driving us out
sound of cars and birds
pens falling to the floor
stop for a while
as he's in your hand too
turning it bad
between thumb and forefinger
perhaps they converge
a new precursor
between two sensitive plates
crashing together
further and further away
is a form of crushed
stone thinking of her
not addressed to her
and certainly not for
cui bono
so never send it
but weave it thru the lip
talked about the sound plenty
of words happening
meant
“pen” to “paper”
a kind of slight
what to call it
flippant dealing
with quartered debris
as magic fades and fades
comes back
is gone
a simple hunting song
^ ^
sifting back through cold thumbed flakes
frost on my nose
spreading to my legs
^ ^
years in days
^ ^
a new century
only noticed yesterday
so much not so much
under as after radar
pregnant with dawn reactions
but dressed to go out at night
get civilised
and gout
blunt with important lies
dust dolmens
a new person
as soon as write it
age with the alphabet
need to spread
translates to bread
trapped in a single cave
warren of bifurcations
will of places to sit down
andrew of distant waves
the cheek to be distracted
helped beat the animals
in a flash
flood of inventions
she occupied my flexible enemy detector for a while
sweet lemon
paranoia
dripping in bed
back to the waterhole
calculating the sun
by glitters
round a buffalo's laps
but where’d it come from?
psychic realism causes affairs
Sam Langer was born in February 1983 and then finished a B.A. in May 2007. He lived in North Fitzroy (: Melbourne: Australia) for 26 or so years. He moved to Berlin (Germany) in October 2011 (“I got no reason to be there / but imagine it would besome kind of change”). He edits Steamer. His work has appeared in a few different places, including Otoliths, The Age, Cordite, John Tranter’s The Best Australian Poems 2011, and Steamer.
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