nathan landau

Aftermath

Some days I am a machine gun
of apologies and gratitude,

an automatic weapon of regret
and sincerity and when the smoke 

clears in the firing range
of our kitchen, your ears

ringing with vows
that it will never happen

again, I am the sound
of a hammer chattering

against the hollow
chamber of my promise.

I am every calibered casing
marked I’m sorry, forgive me,

I didn’t mean it.
Every brass thimble

of thank you and thank you 
and thank you, scattered

on the tile floor where we hold
each other, swear nothing

has changed, and kiss
cartridges into the empty

magazines of our mouths.

Nathan Landau
Rattle 43

Aftermath

by Nathan Landau


Some days I am a machine gun
of apologies and gratitude,

an automatic weapon of regret
and sincerity and when the smoke

clears in the firing range
of our kitchen, your ears

ringing with vows
that it will never happen

again, I am the sound
of a hammer chattering

against the hollow
chamber of my promise.

I am every calibered casing
marked I’m sorry, forgive me,

I didn’t mean it.
Every brass thimble

of thank you and thank you
and thank you, scattered

on the tile floor where we hold
each other, swear nothing

has changed, and kiss
cartridges into the empty

magazines of our mouths.

—from Rattle #43, Spring 2014
Tribute to Love Poems

PROSPECTIVE TITLES FOR ARMADA MODERN

—-

I’M THAT ARTIST

The Golden Age and Other Falsehoods

Joseph Beuys Looks Like a Dried Up Persimmon and Other Aesthetic Observations

I Hate You All This is Ruining Our Friendships Why Did We Think This Was A Good Idea

Working Title

Chain Link Picket Fence

Worthy Observations and Filthy Falsehoods: A Dissertation