A. J. Huffman redux

Stars and Stripes

Paint me red,

white,

and blue. I will be

your flag, a mascot of dying

dreams, alive in the wind.

You can pin me to the ceiling

after you graduate,

or to the wall above your bed.

It’s okay, I know

how to surrender.

I have been practicing the wave for years.

 

 

 

A. J. Huffman redux

Darkling

beak. I am bird

or beast, speaking in language

of night. I cry in comatosed

echoes of yesterday. I am

consumed by black. Feathers

fall like foliage. I am molting,

a flightless folly, fluttering nowhere

in visions of forever.

 Molting -- Gregory Hergert

A. J. Huffman redux

The Butterflies in My Brain

thought I was a light.  Two

nights and an electric zzzzzap

later, my head exploded and

we all went (anything but gentle)

into that great night.

butterfly brain -- Christian Northeast

A. J. Huffman redux

The Paris Journals

I found them.

Stuffed in a box of faded memories.

Tucked in among old notebooks and postcards.

Snapshots.

And a first flower from a first beau.

And I wanted to crawl through

the oversized innocence,

the freeflowing wonderment

drowning on the pages.

I wanted to go back --

my first time in Paris.

The freedom of that final year.

Go back.

Back before the lines came into focus.

And the holding hands under the Eiffel Tower.

When the only fear in my head

was how high it and he could take me.

--Stanley Chen Xi

A. J. Huffman redux

Unbalanced Scale

Precision’s instrument of evaluation, 

a being divided into two 

 vessels. One heavy, burgeoning

with tangible burden. One floating

empty, waiting for substance, content.

The absence defeats the evidence.

There is nothing to calculate.

 

 The Unbalanced Scales -- Steven Dutton

A. J. Huffman redux

Betting on Compression 

to bring my words to life, to pump them full 

of breath and magic, transform them 

into resurrected angels set free to fly 

across barren expanses of white, 

dropping feathers like fire, 

inciting and igniting 

volcanic eruptions along their way.

Fiery -- Christophe Kiciak

A. J. Huffman redux

I Travel the Doomed Hills of This Reality

A knight in shining misery, I quest 

for grail of midnight 

reprieve. My flag is failing, 

dissipating in the wind. Am I becoming 

invisible? Every footstep echoes 

with broken attempts at foraging a silence 

to claim as my own. My eyes are heavy. 

My armor, blooded by my thoughts. 

I am my own crown of thorns, 

pricking myself to see if I am something 

more than a memory 

time continues to forget.

The Dream of Sir Lancelot at the Chapel of the Holy Grail -- Edward Burne-Jones

A. J. Huffman redux

Dear G –

I admit that I am a coward

and deserve your lack of acknowledgment.

I often wish I was a different breed

of woman, designed to be beautiful—

a priceless jewel for your arm. But more

often I wish I could loan you my eyes

so that you could see your own beauty.

Maybe then my glaring cracks would soften,

and the dull glow of my desire would be enough

to hold me in your heart.

 --Elsa Mora

A. J. Huffman redux

I Dream in Outlines

Empty vacuous spaces plague my unconscious
mind as I wander this self-
created world of perpetual hollows.
I am the only tangible
left, and my body is denied all contact.
I sink through floors, walk through walls.
Anonymous figures pass right through me.
I am the last ghost of reality,
and I wake, wondering how long it will take
for me to finally disappear.

Ghost out of the Image -- Kyōsa Kawanabe