[…]


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.

return to SHAMPOO 12