Your Brain Came Out
to play with mine. They frolicked
together for hours, building worlds
out of words and woefully incomplete ideas.
Discovering they were polar
opposites, they began to push and pull
each other like magnets. Soon they were
standing at reflective ends of a united pool
of brilliance. Looking down, they realized
it burned with shadows of both our names.
Semi-precious, amplified. Current
conductivity, pushed beyond
the red. Zone: Over the Rainbow. Static
interference falls like rain. Accumulation
of negative ions stick like glue
to shoes that transform smokin’ legs
to just plain smoke.
I Wish I Had a Donut
to sing me to sleep tonight. I have been
a good girl, making friends with celery
and carrots, really annoying vegetable sticks.
Sadly, I find them standard issue. They bore me
with their mocking selflessness. I would prefer the indulgent
sound of jelly dripping through over-sugared dough to tuck
me in, to lay itself beneath my head, a perfect pillow
to foster sweet dreams filled with visions of a dietless life,
a world where a crunchless bite doesn’t echo with regret.
A.J. Huffman has published nine solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses. She also has two new full-length poetry collections forthcoming, Another Blood Jet (Eldritch Press) and A Few Bullets Short of Home (mgv2>publishing). She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and her poetry, fiction, haiku and photography have appeared in hundreds of 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