Seth Landman

Waking Up

The bridge listened along our long car ride,
waiting its turn. We were at the movies,
and we were saying the movies out loud.
The leading lady said, “It never hurts
to...” and trailed off, just a little panic
in the middle of her big, shining eyes.
I have my theories about what comes next,
but of course they’re unsubstantiated.
At the beginning of everything, you
say you’ve just been dreaming. I believe you,
but maybe it still hurts. Were you thinking
of someone like me? I could be like me.
There are all these modes of transportation.
It never hurts to say goodnight again.

Confront Your Ruins

Good, in the middle of nowhere, the world
will end like a bit of pavement crushing
into gravel and vanishing into
the thick forests of the gigantic north
like some bright-eyed, startled stag. So you will
wonder what happened to your fierce beliefs
as the quiet dissipates around all
the ridiculous arguments you had.
Life is living, and who can survive it,
and the winds around your mind torment you.
There’s a quiet sound I’m trying to find.
It’s almost like nothing, but it’s different.
I’m thinking about how we've named the waters,
about how we haven’t named them all yet.

Seth Landman lives in Northampton, Massachusetts, and is a member of the Agnes Fox Press collective. His first book of poems is Sign You Were Mistaken (Factory Hollow Press, 2013). Recent poems have appeared in jubilatJellyfishHorse Less Review, and Ghost Town, as well as the chapbook A Note on the Text (above/ground, 2012). He works as an Academic Advisor at UMass, Amherst, and writes about fantasy basketball on With the poet Seth Parker, he collaborates on Tyoyeu (@tyoyeu  & 

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