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      October 6, 2014AftermathNathan 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 #43 - Spring 2014

      Nathan Landau

      “There’s this interview with Ira Glass that’s been going around the last couple years, and the gem of it is this monologue about taste. Essentially, your taste is what makes you love what you read, hate what you used to write, and endlessly work to lessen the disparity between the two. I love that—not just that taste drives creative output, but that you could also become someone else’s good taste.”

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