Two Poems by AJ Huffman

Destructive[ly Entertaining]

The implosion was set
for 7:30 a.m. Publix opened 2 hours earlier
than usual to accommodate the expected
crowds. Thousands arrived before dawn
on a Sunday to watch. The chaos
rained gallons of dust over the onlookers.
Baptized
inside the blast radius, applause
erupted. There were whispers of vibrations
inducing labor pains. Too bad
it was a hospital vaporized
at the close of the countdown.


A Bizarre Burning of Bees

The hive is a li[v]e in a hand full of dreams.
And spinning a span of conscious debauchery,
this blustering buzz bounces. A ball
of (subtle?) subterfuge re-assembles
inside its space. Place time
against its shadow. Three wishes dissolve
each other in the middle of their own. Sentence
decryption: the headstone is riddled
by tractors. Trading blades with labels
seems civilized somehow in this smokeless dimension.
Or was it/I spoking dementia as we flowered
into each other’s scenes? Of science
and rationale . . . such rhetoric
recites its own curve.

C is the grade of the grave we cover
with[in] exhaustion’s breath.


Profile: AJ Huffman

Two Poems by AJ Huffman

Withered Wishes

“i’m sorry” is [apparent-
ly] just not a word
my ears deserve to hear. my heart
is the only echo-
location: displacement facility.
check my vitals. they are still
signing: dump your guilt.
here.


Reconstruction of a Self

His arms respond to my thoughts.
A new chill replaces my shivering.
Did I thing too loud? He must understand
I am [not] weak. He smiles. I can
hear his eyes laughing. He read that too.
My mind is his canvas. He is re-painting
me in humorous hues. And I can see
myself there, in this new mirror
shaped like him. And I am enjoying
the merriment as it splashes across my skin.
Joining the communicative silence, I meld
my lips to his. I understand words
are incidental. This is the true language
of time.


Profile: AJ Huffman