The East Village

Susan Landers

56 mgs.

If you fall in love with one then you are a stinkface too

Little gash gnashes 
carpet gore. Gorge
ous torturer sees 

angel mother smile 
happy snacks on 
boys with muscles. 

Happy muscle twists 
little gash a deep 
pinch. (Stinkface 

is everything I am 
not.) Wet myth mouth.
Give her a tinkle 

sticker for her 
high horse. Old 
things like scraps. 

Fist blast cries 
into little pill's
engine that could

be a new story 
but is not. Bug 
scar. I want

the one I don't 
want. (Fork habit
stuck in the heart.)

If little pill were
a new book other
people would buy 

her. Don't don't
look into the gift 
horse's mouth.

This horse is
a violation.
A caller calling.

When the caller
doesn't call seal
the caller up 

in a letter box.
For breathing 
stick a tester

in a perfect king
and let him be cake
without a birthday.

Dream a king
for breaking dates. 
To pay attention

to a dream where 
present tense presents
a line for breaking in

habits. O the weather 
inside is frightful 
for the dark victor

no one protects.
Other people 
hate winners.

This is no safe 
house. Naughty 
panicle. (This might

be a fescue fantasy.)
Little pointer points
out the characters

of my stage names. 
Sounds out the twig text. 
Little gash at a new

door. Pick a face
to freeze by.
Little pill with cuff

link a diver. He cuts
her hand till it doesn't
hurt. What if she is 

not the sick passenger?
Is it winter?
Myth pill spits up.

It is difficult letting 
go of not having it
must be winter.

This stiffness 
catches. Lets go.
This present tense

is a nerve gift. 
Letting is control.
Little pill does not 

eat up her favorite. 
Is a saver.
House is never alone.

Auntie finds a blue 
vein for pressing. 
Much comes and goes 

in stillness. 
Bitter knuckle 
to lobe to ripening. 

A cough tears 
other people's
ears to pieces. 

Little pill tries
to sleep but the trains 
are full of men 

bathing in water 
fountains. Don't lay 
your head there 

little pill. Things catch. 
She may be back 
where she started 

but that may be 
a good thing despite 
what other people say. 

There are doors letting 
go and a fling. 
Violation is not a horse. 

Other people with no luck
but money are safe
in a safe nabe raining

or sleeping. She asks 
mother saint to make light
of boy space games. 

Dumb happy togs
go fucking. Who needs 
fuck all or other 

people in happy togs?
This door crossing 
a body bolt for smashing. 

This tongue lashing goes
toothless. She fucks me 
with a silencer. 

Too much coming 
and going. This is about 
reaching stillness. Bitter 

root torn to pieces 
New roots grow
ordinary other people 

crying angel tears 
into their little engines 
pretending to be new 

stories. I don't want 
to see anyone for certainty.
New things have nothing 

to do with money. 
Go inside.
Steal a spite bike.

A day is a day to pay 
attention. The present 
tense a habit in my heart. 

6 searing in the dark.
5 searing in the dark.
4 searing pins not sticking

the body together
but splitting it in parts. 
Put put and Minnie

are big and small 
and live under the sink 
in new boxes. 

Each is a spare part
and matter of fact 
and plastic and true

like all good stories. 
Like history shooting
the top of a body

plucked before other
people remember it
was never a grown-up.

Minnie sick with smoke
again feels lighter.
A searing off of any

contained pain. 
Put put buys some 
butter for fattening 

little shrimp. But 
what does put put 
like to eat?

Volume Twelve Index