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by A.J. Huffman




I Dream in Seclusion


An empty bed, an empty head,

both feel the same when light has been

extinguished.  I search for signs

of smoke or spark or glint of residue,

an ending to metaphorical

tunnel that has consumed me,

but I am round, and these walls breathe

like squares.  I am squeezing myself

into a perfect discomfort. 

I was damned to fit.




a line, (a short blue one)






               of cohesive labeling

descriptives, mashed together seem in direct

contrast to indecisive nature.  Pigmented

parts:  blue and green

wrangle for their turn

in the light.  Neither quite make it,


into each other’s sickly saturating embrace.






a line, (a short blue one)



Rainbow Bridge


Mountains over meadows

temper sun’s watchful eye.

It is crazy

how neither notice the golden

arch, sparkling faintly

right between their eyes.




a line, (a short blue one)



Glitter Unplugged


Reflective skin stripped

of its magnetism.  Light

becomes repulsed by remnant

hueless shapes.  Gathering in

partyless piles, disregarded as common

variety dust.





a line, (a short blue one)



Of Egg





baby beaks


broken yolks



before dawn



a line, (a blue one)


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