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Five Poems
by A.J. Huffman



In the Hungover Bathroom of Wakefulness


I hold my own hair and stare at the blurred

reflection in the mirror.  I understand

it should be me, but I am having trouble

recognizing my own features.  The ants,

exploding like hiccups, complete with sound

effects, are distracting.  I start

to wonder if we drank the same thing

as my feet seem to be floating

three inches off the ground.



a line, (a short blue one)




Bigotry, love and God.

Incomprehensible existences

arrogantly sucking reality’s marrow.

Down my throat,

a more exact comprehension, a burning

desire to find my own source,

a salvation without special instructions

or millions of definitive holes

to fall through.



a line, (a short blue one)


Of Fire









                 turns surroundings

to ash



a line, (a short blue one)


I Count Memories


like spaces between the clock’s

tickings - a language of uniform

solice, I know these silences

as well as the back of my eyelids.

They have become screens of screaming

sheep I pretend to ignore -

their bleetings are bleeding my nights

as the moon and my misery rise

into a fire I despise twice

as much as the sun.



a line, (a short blue one)


The Waves Have Teeth


Rising crest conceals feral beast.  White

foam and white skin become synonymous

until crash settles, reveals territorial fin

too late.  The surfer survives the ride, falls

prey to distraction.  Victory is overshadowed

by congratulatory bite.



a line, (a blue one)


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