Sam Langer





we’re the bunnies

we’re the bunnies here
on the ship of april
                there are cop cars on the ship
                & inaudible cabin-wallpaper
talks as they drive up it
take place within their cars, wheel-hands
clutching each wheel’s whitish tube
(i assume.) my mind leaves
my cabin where it is and now
the so-soft wallpaper seems to breathe
– something happened to it, stuff rocks,
we hope the bunnies wake up
on the paths’ various darkness.
spokescreatures over the intercom rant
 about the sides and that the slope
down to the water is wet : how their balding
chats cut over the deck like demented tires
& there’s the animal tiredness-depression
               	in the blinks of animals
between what they say –
words’re stretched and some times grin
it gets slower and slower
the walls breathe
in some semifinal daze
               	coming up the cabin stairs
to meet its owner, encompasser
(we hope for ourselves)
who’s likewise on someone’s compass,
bussole, (pointed ears, cleaning,
cared for, bunny, cabin dweller, under
those     captains,     heads
of that kaputt space, looking out the window
at those complex railings, keeping well, guided
passenger, pushing the ship,
pushing the ship...





poem

I guess that we’ll meet
We’ll meet in the end
–OZZY OSBOURNE

it’s not very green now that you know what’s missing
you seem to know what you don’t say between syllables – we have crawled
at sky speed , and have worked like dogs at room speed
taking it to make the different times  come out your life
as we who i you slowly turn like unicron or the moon
(1,022km/s) as we begin to reach   middle then look to   back

working at room speed to push la misère’s wheel
where can we resist?
lifting makes me peaceful,
                              		smoke made me
the mattress

he doesn’t go away or he goes away
and
over my shoulder (less painful now)
other neighbour completes cig sitting in box
the metal hedge more ornate from glass’s ripples
then goes back inside, overhead lights

i am not really listening to your conversation
and thinking about how many more we’ll organise
online afterwards · in this one i have a bad attitudde
unexhausted negativity never tires slacknessss
the feeling of the weevil on the crumpled edge of tea packet
(white within green) who knows, very slowly dancing,
cupboardspeed
objects stelled at random moths that fly out
                                             			ants abstracted by  wallets
who find new homes through the perfume
sprayed on their black hard leaves
beside other ants once again

shadow flits through the room just before phone
vibrates briefly once—°¿

i seem to remember lukács didn’t approve of joyce’s dizzying
person-connected fragments. thought with a weevil moth
is touching this conversation with the. i performs
what it promises developing interior
scope  for collective experience –
jumpings of roomboundness
in waking sleep.
like imagining p.j.r.e. will invite us
lead us out of our rooms one day
that radiant thickneck to grant
us more and more testo evermore

but also yes bat ad-itude
 attentionspan for the length of leg
of attention – & luddism-sharpintakeofbreathism
to which the random remarks add
something, gunge kept as a pet. “I want my hand held
by a cartoon cat thru this time of
reticular personal fragmentation and nad resale”
i promise at least myself to think about this
differently – the play of the dance of its own ernst
               	the chutney spicey the big chunks of weapon
that they shouldn’t have had, they said
THEY wish the moon were green
they like everything to smell like its surface
(the moon’s) then sweep through, always
sweeping through, and we left, to whinge,
stretched between the l.e.d. beads of our syllables

– who evereven has the energy to find out
what they want from us, anymore, when it’s so
clear what is wanted from us, ever

lie down on the couche, take a bite,
touch the vampyr softly
in middle of the chest

Sam Langer has published poems in various places, most recently nouvellepoesie.pdf. He wrote Splat (A Firm Nigh Holistic Press, 2016) and Exercise (forthcoming) with Jeroen Nieuwland.

 
 

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