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Susan Landers – go to guy for going to may be all he

Susan Landers
go to guy for going to may be all he’s cracked up to be

Kudzu comes.
What is always
good is going.


Vodka or fog.
Same face
different name.


I’ll be her and he’ll
be me. I don’t care
where the train


takes me is a lie.
Come again? Auntie
fancies himself


a trap door gal.
Little pill with
a writing disorder.


Minnie and put put
in relationship detox.
(How do I explain


something silly
like blame?)
A rock is a rock


except when it’s not.
In the beginning
there is rest.


That’s a tell.
Rocks know no regret.
Introduce the characters


to real people from
their real lives and
the actors can hardly


contain themselves
from their characters.
They are shocked and


throbbing and acting
like they aren’t
acting badly.


They are different
characters now.
Every obsession


needs a collaborator
in public. Kick
a tired life house.


Vanity loop (=) small
and weak lines
accompanied by


vomiting. Sensitive
to criticism. You
is beyond my mind


control. Trade
a fixation for bones.
What a beautiful drama.


Like every other
pretty store. I wish
imagination were real.


There there.
Stitches stretch.
A stretcher.


It holds.
Gut flora.
It is so easy


to be part
of the problem.
Other people squeak.


Grease their fears
up good in a bumpy
blood box doctor.


(Doctor says stay
in the house
to make a home.)


Everything has its price.
Practice tagging it.
Little pill doesn’t feel.


Doesn’t feel well.
Little pill doesn’t leave.
She makes a good house.


Aunt gargantua tells
pogo to go rub a rock.
Who do you worship


little pill? I am
an Elizabeth.
That
vomiting and burrowing


are at odds. That
the house is noisy.
That only leaving


is real and this
is not leaving.
That leaving


and children are at odds.
That all of this is true.
That now that alcoholism


is over my life feels empty.
That bending is silly.
That all of this is real.


Mother little says
the more you play
the sooner you lose.


Stick the sleepy yo-yo
in the frig for vigor.
Pogo sticks to minnie’s drip.


I don’t care
where the train
takes me is a lie


I have to deal with.
Doctor says run
around the block.


But doctor who wants
to be that happy?
Minnie is a pink fray.


Whatever happens
strikes first then wins
the crown. Stinkface


is a clingy poohbah.
Let’s all change
names at recess.


Pogo is named for
gogo who doesn’t go
even though pogo


is a different stick.
He spurts no smoke
bone no lily can stop him.


All of this is real.
Any one of us
is capable of killing.


Stop it sweet brick
gurgle. Don’t think
anything that’s not


funny. Breaking
the bird’s neck
won’t take away


from the fact
that this room
gets great light.


The dead hold hands
and make all their
own choices. Right.


That’s better egg.
(O god says minnie
coming. Nothing but


pressing matters.)
Stinkyrockface
in a choke hold.


How long will
the bird live
after its head


is severed? I am
no brakeman.
Names adhere


with cheap adhesive.
Smelly skin peel.
The station teems


with chicken and piss.
Actual shit on actual
sinks. (Green teeth


a smearer.) Perspective
isn’t real. First light
without body. Then


body finds light.
Still life a target.
Birdie jumps.

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