Poems
by A.J. Huffman

 

My Mind Resonates

 

like a metronome on meth.  It cannot think

in the same plane twice.  I twist.  It turns–

sideways like a boormerang in heat–

and lands back on its own

reflection.  I pick it up,

fold it into different angles.

My fingers swallow it’s whine,

become electric

guns, searching for release.

No pen in sight.  No problem!

Blood flows just as nice.

 

 

 

 

 

We Lie

 

on our backs,

both pretending not to

look at the ceiling.

You waiting for me to acknowledge you

are awake.  Me waiting for you

to return to sleep.

I hear you sigh heavily, a sign of my lack

of interest to crawl into your arms.

You are too covered in memories of her

for me to even contemplate the possibility.

Her ghost is permeating the room,

judging me and coveting you.

We know she has already won.

 

 

 

 

 

I Do Not Feel

 

anything

anymore.

I turn the emotional world off

like a switch.

Swish.  Wish.  Boo.

It all dissolves into the space

in my brain, boringly labeled pain.

There is no need for any other brand.

All their names sound the same

in the Hell of my heart.  I turn

its temperature to cold

and embrace the silence that comes

as quickly as the hardening

of its beats.

 

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