Sam Langer

Five extracts from a Medley

tents on the slope under the freeway

a green barking and stars for people with backyards

drunk with conscience

still profit tanks change owners and the interiors become rubbish

or line a different shop

hold the six foot joint with two fists sip

leonard polishes his shoes in various states of undress

illustrating the lyrics

what is a datum, what a tattoo, what a vampire

nothing is like anything

and the hoses are urbane activity


crying people are brought in
i don't know, no one
comforted them into the grey spaces
with such high ceilings to get ready
for being hurled through the air
in an uncomfortable chair
the steel forcemeat
ridden without panic
reading fast
not knowing what
any of it was or who you were
feeling kind with mouth shut
in the cloud sandwich
i opened my boiling lasagne
and my neighbour read out headlines
then wondered how the plane was able to slow down
was it with a parachute?
surprisingly relaxed at the front
when the engines changed pitch


fallen sleep hissed and sold it a mouth.
gave up, sick for replacements for this
afternoon in sombrely pedantic ruins
best of the legend on the human pool
table. ribbon and ribbon passing through
a loose fist in the throat - poses at
large in the body forming a shape from
above. pervasive contemplated unsurprising
victory. still immobility, illness and
furniture moving itself from house to house
brutalised pantry nest. left open for the
pulp to foam in the viewfinder descending
sleep of cat tooth terrorised familiars.
sensational fingertip collection.


grey tarmac streams
fearlessly across the porthole
and the people, one is fighting back
tears in the ryanair queue
and one openly crying
lining up to board, seen
from the escalator
rising back out of sight


what if the entirety were an infinite fly?
an absurdity, for a fly is defined precisely by all of its differences from infinity.
yet what if all perception were secret definitions, separating the perception reality has of itself from the infinitely ultimate blowfly that it unreally were.

toadstool becoming more psychedelic in the garage,

or on the floor of your car?

is this you

that was low (emphases)

morose music

the bandage removed continued to unfurl

Sam Langer lives in Berlin. Other bits of his poetry can be found in VierSomes 003 (The Berlin Edition), Active Aesthetics (Giramondo/Tuumba), Topaz (bulky news press) and Cug A Part (finite moans press).
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