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.

 

 

 

Crevices

 

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.

 

 

 

Of Fire

 

flint

spark

embered

ignition

flares

consumes

                 itself

                 turns surroundings

to ash

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

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.

 

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