Amy Trussell

A Clutch Of Planets

Clusters of stars spread like oils-
thickly mixed and smeared on the mirror
the blue line emulsifies and I walk over it
and sit in the cry box with a new coat of paint
broken up theater of seaweed
dominion of scented pale dust
what arc bisects through this sky?
I divide black sand into two piles
And cut up gray matter
nourishment seeping out to the surface
then rise from a drip tray
Beneath a clutch of planets
And watch the granules of the sun
Burning up and reforming again
churned up moons
congealing beneath the feet
O blood pushing out at the walls
The black sea ice breaks
Cells unwrap
Swath of soaked head shawl
a wedge of time has collapsed
the stacked antlers
in the foreground
wade through a horse trough
wet skirt on a warm day
fluid motion surrounded in steel
slip bucket mystery
skimming off oil from a long cooled broth
and saving it in a jar for much later
expecting showers of debris

Phantom Waterfall

digging for sand rubies and exoskeletons.
ash blows over from the Mexican volcano
guiding a jaguar up
i stand on shale and it begins to snow mica
into the mud
or is it pan spermia?
those spores that blew off from mars
and stars us from dust devils and vapor caves
every night water pours through
the cave and takes away the skin cells
that have drifted to the breathing walls
and changed the course
the human breath changes humidity too
you can feel it on your neck even though no one
is directly behind you.
there is a buzzing in your head
purple dragonflies circling over a phantom waterfall
and in this perfect air between here and there
the skin stays porous with light traveling both ways
in some parts of the world you have a hot sand treatment
and come out new, or cedar shavings or mud
and sulfur water
i lay my head on the shoulder
of the condemned road and watch the eclipse:
cream floating to the rim of the moon
the painter's easel is a lit up constellation
a paper blows up in my face-
this is a flyby camera shot
and a dress rehearsal for saturn
the scientists say we will reproduce in space soon
I chalk my hands and face the rock
and decide on a shoulder route

Palm Sugar


my ex-husband was a moist monster


                        shaving with the waters of space


overlaid stratum                              belt buckle


                                           his mirror hanging in a slicked back tree


songs like a mess of agglutinated pollen


                                         gave me a postprandial kiss


on a pontoon bridge                                  in the rain


                                       (still paying off the shady side of the ship)


Where we learned the pour point of equatorial clouds


                         these sheets are powdered with a  pounce box


Yet the ink still runs   its too hot to write a letter


                From inside this bubble


                                   Particle by particle he sells his soul from a geodesic dome


stares at a window box of black snapdragons


             said You can't trust the river- you turn your back and the tide goes out


                                        The ocean sucks


           the plants ruled by Saturn couldn't bind us together


                                               reptilians in the portals couldn't keep us apart


           they disperse through bearded terrestrial orchids


and here we are each in our own phone booth


                                                        boas pressed against terrariums


                 turning our heads methodically to see if anyone is looking


though of course they can't hear                 the spectrum of pulsations


                                    packed tight into a dense area of matter and energy


                     Remember our wedding day ride?


The police saluted our procession swearing it was a funeral


                              And we were awakened that night by a potato bug in the trash


                thought it was spirits scratching messages on paper


we threw the intruder out the window then we kissed


                The goat in the yard rang its double bell to ward off evil


                                                Palm sugar


You bought me Turk's cap lilies  in the market and we were hungry


                                                 The fish-monger removed a head


And wrapped the body in the obituaries


                 We packed it in rosemary and hid it beneath the hood of the car


Then drove around to cook it  and kissed some more


                                         Trying not to get into another accident 


                                     Now what do we have?


I pull a bucket up from the well and it has a moccasin in it


                                 You pull the microphone towards your mouth


And a bat catches on the screen door


I pick through the hair of night and find frangi-pangi petals


                   starting  to curl back like sneering lips


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