Posts Tagged ‘A.J. Huffman’



ly trying to hang on.  To anything whole
in this field of fragmented, song-
like noises echo as whispers
on a pillow.  I fall through their depths.
Hoping their darker tonations will teach
me.  Peace is the desert
I long to drown in.  Spiteful.  Spirited.
Its blanding shades offer an oasis.
A fading, wavering, welcoming image.
Of [your] arms.  Shaped like home.





Green.  To orange.  Then blue.
Your eye magic charms glow.  Through me
you are alive.  Ageless and undefined, you hang wingless in my mind.  My(?) angel.
You cannot be.  My world
is dying inside of me.  And mine
is not strong enough to be.  Without you,
this time-strangled heart cannot hold [on].
Yet another year’s beating falls
outside of comprehension.  Listen
to the air.  It is heavier now.  Slowing
like [my] pulse.  Points
pounding nowhere through collapsing
veins.  Your touch pulls a gasp.  I grasp at the silver threads trailing your fingers.
But still I cannot breathe when you lean
in and kiss.  Me?




Tears for Her

I found you tying your self in-
to burgundy knots of sheets
and pain.  Turning/burning/churning.
I watched the darkness breathe
for you.  Could not
the stammering stop the drowning?
Bubbles of blame blew through you.
([Wrongly] Labeled as misconstrued
communications.)  Failing
is more than an option now.  Though
broken is the pro-offered term.
Incorrect!  Assumptions
are so much harsher than the actual
face of the mirror’s dark.




The Dark-Shelled Flowers of Thought
I’m tired.
And I don’t care what color the sky is.
It doesn’t remember my mind.
Or the shape it left when it passed.
Too bad really.
The corners are jewels.
Dripping dew —
like spiders —
from its pain.
And the music.
Too hollow to be real.
Echoes endlessly
through scarred tunnels.
For anything but sleep

Dancing on Razor Blades
I prick my finger.
And spill your name.
So beautiful.
It belongs.
In a scream.
But my lips are tired.
Of following the drain.
The curve of the letters
is too steep.
I stumble.
And fall.
Into and beyond
the blackening wall.
Of forget.

Hateful and Alone

I look in the mirror.

And I see two me’s.

Both different.

And afraid of the same.

So I choose

to see the spaces

reflected in between.

They are empty.

And safe.

Shining as a face.


That is what I long to be.

The blankness

that is beauty.

So perfect

                  ly still.

An etching of everything.


And, of course, understood.