with yr baby toes on dreams
the moon has a darkness
down seagulls i think yr
everything, i think yr the moon
i think yr the sun; moon,
close a door with yr baby toes
i think yr down seagulls
a darkness the moon has
then yr safety pins
then u say rain in his seagulls
backwards, the moon has
everything in it; i think u have it
backwards, close yr soul pillows
yr weird down seagulls
close a door with a door
take more; then u say
a frozen moon leave some
in his head; i have the moon
and i fake it; i think i have no idea
who writes me; i liked that rain
in his safety pins
wrap the moon; two teaspoons
of song in yr eyes, on the bed
i think u have it; i think i better clip
yr baby toes; take everything
i have, take more i say
his traced make-up
quilt soap with an a? with an h?
of a song, he is sitting
on my alphabet
name a song i say
let's play, we don't
really need a song
on the bed, everything in it.
boring las vegas, im a winter mouth with a lump of iraq
valley cows are suspicious
iraq is bleeding like cardboard
the way the hands and eyes mean moon
silence falls into the dark
silence, uncle mouth; i used to be in an oven
i used to be a lump of cloud in your arms
geography mouth, i remember little
im screaming like paint, daddy meat god
im cardboard, i, petaluma daddy
im tofu daddy moon in your hippie bones
mrs. go need a landlord
with your mitochondria, go be someone
u think u need barbies
u think god disappears
when questions cant fall i get u, i don't
stupid storm, democracy abortion
yr just a circus
if this is me, then yr singing in a storm
the moon is a hardboiled egg
he sends me chinese banjo music
forgiveness sounds like wind
in my answering machine
the rapist doesn't get my falling questions
purple horses listen, strangers in my phonebook
feel jimi hendrix was a removable scarecrow
u have jobs; slide, convulse, get up
the problem with u is u threw yr fred flinstone
vitamins in a hole, chilly blackmail sky
appointments laugh in their calendar boxes
the tv is on like we’re allergic to the sun
wont shadows forget the day is over
should u shave yr head and be angry all the time
Donna Kuhn has published her poems in over 50 journals and anthologies including Santa Clara Review, Poetry New York, Red Dirt, fuel, forms and Poesy. Her poetry has been choreographed by Natica Angillys’ Poetic Dance Theater and is incorporated into her own dance, visual art, found sound collage tapes and video. Check out her web site, Online Web Art.