the edge of want

the edge of magnificence goes away

we would like to escape to the mountain

i don't like to okay you

a husband substitutes for hope

from the bird of u they have

written, empty of the bird

wait me to it, emptiness of

the bird argument: still;

clean the ego for me

hope me to her, the mountain

of the city and they press it

the bird of u>argument:

still: > [ lady

your music, i said, nevertheless

the edge of want ; way away

from u

it makes me feel claustrophobic

i said, to flee, to flee to drive off

then threatened

i said don't let me keep it

somewhat rare and of u

get off the sky, sleep being clouds in the throat

500 hammers, 500 seas bent in the pants of u

his charms were strange

i use u like a dead man

with some loose device

i am but this, u cloud

this man, conversation

set to clouds

the music

shows up

the seizure equals a man of of music but blue sky me

if you're me, speak; see no clouds

who is felt somewhat rare and of u

lives falling out of your sky, who fell me

she is 50 the sky liked to cry

i am sorry, night; i am no longer falling

it's ok to fall, pour some hyphens

pour his sky, pour fell out of the world now

nightblooming cereus

Night Blooming Cereus

She could step outside and hear the blues slingers from her door,

though distorted, as if coming through a mojo filter

and the fog-eating forest.

She keeps her aspirations on torn paper in a wide mouth jar

and films herself before a bank of mirrors

and lets the world know she will dance into infinity

branching out from each ladder of ribs

even when all hell is breaking loose.

She dances for the beloved dead, her son who’s cast his spirit

into the black stars and her friend who followed soon on

a skateboard.

She dances for her surviving daughter who, back turned,

fixes her hair, standing firm as a sapling,

She ghost dances for the holocaust survivors and the

derailment of tears.

And for the ocean that breaks and pulls back to throw itself

on the shore again, as she lowers to the spring loaded floor

and cobras back up again.

She’s a yogini and a part-time wrathful dakini, storm swirl.

She has been torn down and spread her winged skirts a thousand

times and pressed for the moon even when it burned and turned

to a funereal urn, the plum blooms bearing down in haste

in an early deluge

Now she goes out on to a wire with a sketch net below

arabesquing to find a new love and dwelling

one foot over California and one over New Mexico,

the practice run for the Taos poetry circus.

There the men contenders in the ring oil their muscles.

But she spars like Aimee, Frida Kahlo doing a tango in

spite of her train wrecked past, finishing a gliclee with a glide.

Or O’Keefe collecting the most stunning bones out on a plain

Among the space ship wreckage of Roswell.

You beat the smoke tarnished silver into something wearable.

I can see you coming out into a makeshift theater in the round carved in

red rock wearing a hazmat suit or astronaut gear.

Slowly you remove your helmet and protective coveralls.

Deep body roll.

You’re dynamite in black leotard, a night-blooming cereus,

There in the moonscape, rock strewn and blossoming with a come-

hither flame in the core.

Amy Trussell

use the brush for me

i was a silent paintbrush

my virginity thinks for me

your shopping cart is somewhere

i am the shopping cart for a second

i am the cart

i lied to my shopping cart

it yawns with purity

i am leaving against the silence

i am silent somewhere

my crippled cart always

said i am silent

always silent

you'll need me

somewhere

i am the addict who is silent for my purity

i am silent, my lying addict brush

i think you'll need me hardened

i am getting hooked, a paintbrush

in another state, always silent

in another

i yawn, yawn for u

silent in a gone way

who is the cart

the moon, my grandfather is a crippled cart

u are getting hooked on furniture

the moon may cut and i am

leaving the brush for u

my hardened brush

yawns

my junky furniture

i was a time u think of as silent

the moon i am silent

my grandfather thinks

i should be divorced

twice

-donna kuhn and jan edward vogels

u can't realize that u make a song

u cant realize that u make a song

it happens like the moon

her overreaching peach

always said

i drove that

i like that

then another

all the summer that could ever over

where is the new me

the listening grew up

here

are u stuck in my need in the form of a salmon run

i was determined to go bowling

who created the man who is going to

wander into the frame like a dark hole

pieces, pieces

i fell in love for $400, it's a pretty good deal

until your arms get tired

people give me dirty looks

because i am annoying

myself

i can't slow down so get out of my way

one frame at a time

this was my first impression of you

it's all very amusing, i dont think so

are u sure it was me?

hand and brush, i was grieving

stop motion, stop motion

human excess

my daughter is a toolbox

disasters

so beautiful has a cost who means business

years later it was sunday, july 5

2:13 pm stuff, i will not leave my

belt destructive, stop giving

birth to new mexico perhaps

death is a free plug-in

at 1:42 her company answered sure it was

he posts his rattles

personal and global and so what

i suppose my snow is silent

like the moon to me

and u know me so fast

and its stop motion

no, i lied

i always push and i can't deal with good stuff

-donna kuhn and jan edward vogels

god is in east new york

i do the can can in the dark

at dusk i start throwing things

it's never twilight, next door

starts crying

god is in east new york

u are talking about a mountain

and he is a shoemaker, his transactions

are perceived kneecaps

your angry plumeria flower says hello

i don't care, u deadlocked witch

thieves are this poet and that winter, freezing

deal out your beautiful document, your newt

my canal is translucent chamomile that sings paper

susan, hello; i cook or attack canals, i care about

the wrong soap in honda town. susan, it is dusk

it can have u

u kiss my tissue iphone, the ring throbbed

in government closet moods, i am feeling

thematic in my head

thematic is lifesaving ugliness, good

i used your canal, your honda can't tell

u how the morning is myself that

chamomile, the mountain where closet moods

i am grateful and cold

my boat trembles

in my school traditions

i am in your database

soybean ceiling scar

wounded this coffee

i am looking for rubber angels

its true, i am paralyzed and i am

looking, u search the coffeehouse

this perceived scaffolding loot

u are tiny houses

a storm in hello

the soybean is

next door

hello mended octopus plumeria

hello thing, scowl; can u?

the iphone says hello

not the ash of this flower

life-saving e-book on

your lawn

i am an iphone

help me

tire dreamer, stay

hello this poet is equipped

thematic doris loot newt

i am your foolish lawn

i am very fresh

it is the future and i am it

i get twilight in new york

and i am your lawn

i oil your accordian

hello, this is the trembling

shrine blackening of stormy

u are soy and i am not legal

my chamomile, it's winter, the mountain

i am business

i am chamomile

i search for rubber hunters

i sleep with strangers for revenge

i tell him he's andalusian

dark, deadlocked, quipped

the sidewalk is walking

the sidewalk says hello

i dance everywhere

wang to my disabilities

my lawn is cold, my marvelousness

your soy coffee scowls so

something about czechoslovakia

i drought your accordian kneecaps

i am singing in the shower, to the lawn

to the mountain, the e-book equipped

with salamander cremate reprinting newt

from your wounded standpoint a spice is corkscrewed

i am no tomorrow talking about your database

u stall and i am grateful

overlord lemon possum

accordian disabilities

ring in it

i do not cremate your corkscrewed honda anathema

i feel i am octopus 105th hello

i am and i cannot stop

animals are so walking on somebody's thing

ring my head on fire, introduce me

u foolish thing

i used to care

why are u flat

my iphone mouth

octopus, playful octopus; i am on fire

i used to knob u

look at the angel ash

soy cremate reprinting head

i am your ugliness, do

i am for the rubber mountains in my head

i am the dreamer for somehow

i used to don't care in the shower

i sing about coffee, i do not blame

themselves; treasure, i can't tell

your database

hello, my get thru

i am the morning tree

i have things, i am a

riot of hello

ring about coffee soybean does not foolish perceived kneecap meagerness