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