Seth Landman

 

 


Avoidance Platform

 

Tuned into light, the sportscasters hunted a crying

pillow. Long, steaming kiss goodnight.

 

Goodbye, radio, the only thing

I ever loved, I never lived.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Across tones of a bell, I never remembered the country's

shape. Across atonal hell, I made a sound escape.

 

I wound up a rodeo clown. I witnessed gunshots, sand,

sadness, I was never so cool, I said.

 

A removal. Moving across town. Echo, I said.

Moving around wires in ceilings, being found.

 

 

 


Some Traffic

 

I'm listening to permanent footsteps, ahead,

in the future, the whine of a breaking machine,

the sound of putting off for tomorrow what

 

I could do today could I do today. I'm listening to

the whole year, saying it back. Saying it, losing

the whole thing. Talking back to it at the end

 

of the day while the fridge hums.

Well, electrocution; well, stargazing. Listening

the cicadas into the year where what year is this

 

empty husk. Seeds listening to a constant

forge, forgetting the white noise of the factory,

factoring in the possibilities while the world said

 

this is how to lose an entire year and go back.

Listening as cars take in birds and begin to fly.

As in this is the year I'm hearing, knowing this year

 

is far away. What you hold is only small,

is in your hand, is not far away. In your head,

not out loud. I'm hearing myself think

 

in the frozen traffic waves that pause,

hearts that stop and shatter,

highways in constant repair, all night long.