Because Dreams
are as distant as stars, I comb the sky
nightly, looking for mental residue,
a collision’s path
I can follow through
the darkness. I am
blinking, blindly,
waiting to be
or be claimed as
a beacon, or at least something bright enough
to be charted as pointing, maybe even leading,
to some applaudable space.
I Am Breath
of moonbeam, child of starlight and empty
space. I am momentum,
suspended.
Free-floating without gravity, I am uncharted
territory, waiting to be discovered. One alien
touch, and I am scarred, imprinted by uninvited
trespassers, claiming I am their own. Non-conducive
to cohabitation, I refuse co-dependence, eject
sycophantic leeches, launch them into the stratosphere.
Their trajectory echoes a mantra inside my mind:
One small step for man, one wrong move toward my kind.
One small step for man, one wrong move toward my kind.
Midnight’s Frosting
Twelve bells toll without hope
of eyes closing. My
mind
turns cold shoulders toward sanity,
begins to wonder . . .
If I dreamed of nothing
but snow, would I freeze
to death in my sleep?
A.J. Huffman has published eleven solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses. her new poetry collections, Another Blood Jet (Eldritch Press), A Few Bullets Short of Home (mgv2>publishing), and Butchery of the Innocent (Scars Publications) are now available from their respective publishers. She has two additional poetry collections forthcoming: Degeneration (Pink Girl Ink) and A Bizarre Burning of Bees (Transcendent Zero Press). She is a three-time Pushcart Prize nominee, a two-time Best of Net nominee, and has published over 2300 poems in various national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, and Kritya. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press. www.kindofahurricanepress.com.
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