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.
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 others sickly saturating embrace.
Mountains over meadows
temper suns watchful eye.
It is crazy
how neither notice the golden
arch, sparkling faintly
right between their eyes.
Reflective skin stripped
of its magnetism. Light
becomes repulsed by remnant
hueless shapes. Gathering in
partyless piles, disregarded as common
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