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
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