Ocean Unplugged

A Poem by A. J. Hufffman

Falling still, flat as the preconceived
earth in history’s tomes. No waves
to watch in awe or fight
to conquer on boards layered
with wax. Carnivorous
hunters, de-toothed,
bottom feeders filed away in corner
caves. Massive emptiness
echoes: Nothing.

Shoreline Sunset

A Poem by A. J. Huffman

The sky fell suddenly
from its perch, pulling streaks
of clouds to cover its tracks.

But the last one — the darkest
one — got caught on the stars
and ripped itself into shadow.

Left inside out, it seems
to have bloodied the sea.

Because life

A Poem by A J Huffman

is monotonous and draining,
I am borrowing a cup of dreams
to give my nights wings. A dash
of possibilities rushes through my veins,
acts as instant sedative. Two shakes of wishes
waiting to be granted, and I am motivated
to sound, begin snoring, verberating zzz’s.
Drop in a fantasy moment of happily ever after,
and I just might be able to sleep, peacefully,
until dawn.

I Dreamed I Folded

A Poem by A. J. Huffman

myself inside a box of nonexistence.

It all started with me as a pane
of glass, a window threw which I could see
myself clearly. It was odd, this vision,
the planes of my four sides.
I watched as they collapsed in on themselves –
a feeling I had experienced many times,
but never visualized. It manifested
as a much calmer, more orderly process
than I had imagined. Slowly, I grew
smaller and smaller until I was barely more
than a blip of silver, screaming
in the middle of a white expanse. I reached out
and shook myself. A strange cooing
echoed from the center of this creepy casket
I had sealed myself into. I looked for a latch,
found none, placed myself on my own sill instead,
and waited for the sun to come up.
When it finally did, I cracked,
emerged from the shell of my own cell,
a dove with raven’s wings.

The next morning I woke with no idea
of what it all meant. I only knew I had
an overwhelming urge to fly.

I Am Punctuation

A Poem by A.J. Huffman

a symbol, designed to adhere
to set system of rules. I am a brief
moment of pause, an interjected breath.
I designate
conversation. I am atmosphere:
Proclamation, exclamation, definitive articulation.
I am the flow
of connotation,
a black spot, a final point. I am the last
thing your eyes will see.


A Poem by A. J. Huffman

I opened my eyes and I screamed
so loud I turned my skin
inside out. Forcing
the blood I had left to the surface.

Once I was painted, I was silent.
There was nothing else to say.
You could not ignore me any longer.
I was a spot, a sore, a scab.
You had to pick me.
You had to make me
your own.


A Poem by A. J. Huffman

I buried myself up to my chin
in the hollow flesh of men
who were all too happy to sacrifice
for the cause. Then I colored my hair
with their eyes. And my lips,
well, I believe they speak for themselves.
Still I lacked the heat to hold
your attention. So I left
my scars. But I never realized they formed
a map. Too late, I followed
you instead.
Until I could not breathe
for anything but the pulse
of your blood.

––from her chapbook Audition from Hell