Welcome to Frankenstein A.J. Huffman August 20, 2013
From Madness To Delight
I am so easily lost in your eyes, and you are so easily God in mine that together we are a kiss so deadly, the sky blinks black against not our light but its own.
A Shift of Realities
Can the world be lost in a touch? Yes, when that touch is yours. I can feel it flying through my life like a flame. It’s heat seeking my soul. Consuming it wholly. Holy, I give in. It isn’t a sacrifice. The light in your eyes is enough to fill and refill me with an eternity more expansive than any I could ever dream.
Hanging from Nothing
One look and I am your instant addict, dependent — wholly — upon your smile and the golden ring you choose to wear around your neck. Though, often, it seems pale — more yellow than not. It reminds me of a tie or a halo that has missed its mark. It never misses mine. I can feel it stretching – closing in around my neck like a noose, but far less forgiving. It just holds there, heavy, threatening, still.
In Empty Eternity
Here I am: a wasteland, waiting to collect the scraps you throw at my feet. Will they build me or break me behind this tired wired fence? No others will pass over. Your marks are too strong. And I miss the traffic. Those footprint-bruises that testified: I was alive. And worth something more than dust.
Essence is Everything
Fire . . . water . . . salt. These are the elements of our love. Our game: Light one; Drown two and grind the pain over all. Master versus master. We have each other covered. We could play for ever or for never. It all depends on whose scars crack first.
The Flood of Returning Sin
Your echo looks like me. All dying in wavering circles. And I am its soundless scream. (Growing louder in your absence). Touch me, and watch the silence break. But only for a second. That much pain cannot be interrupted for long. The cycle must complete. Or it cannot compete with itself. As I race headfirst for your shore.
Welcome to Frankenstein
Here is my finger. There is a tired piece of skin. Now watch closely. I can weave you a monster that will eat out of your hand, or I can weave you a monster that will eat your hand. It’s your call. And you’ll be surprised by your choice. (I know I was). But nobody’s perfect, and real evil they say, like beauty, is nowhere . . . but in the eye of the [be]holder . . .
Courage of the Eye
Hell is not easily conquered. Nor am I. When, twice as hot, you turn me against your face, and blow — hoping I will crack or crackle and float off like so much ash. I am sorry. I am not the dream you wished for. Rather, I am the nightmare you are stuck to. Here, let me pinch you. Too bad, it is too late to wake up.
The Burn of Colors
Can I watch the end of the world from the center of a desert overgrown with hate? Or will these pillars I have constructed lock me in my state? Worse than death, this life of solitude and heat has conquered me. Twice. With nothing less than nothing, I have surrendered myself to the view: Falling. Falling. Fallen is still an improvement from gone.
The Cry of a Mistaken Soul
Is there a choice for you other than me? Is there another nail waiting, empty on your wall? No. Don’t answer. I have seen its blood in your eyes. I understand. You still cannot set me free, and I could not go far without my wings anyway. Just turn me around. Please. I prefer not to see. Screams in the dark are enough to make me believe you are still real.
Running Through Delirium
I disintegrate inside my own thoughts every time your eyes leave me. So alone. Inside this space of a second, I cannot touch. I cannot breathe. My body falls: lame; turns to ash and scatters with a syllabic whisper: Good-bye.
In the unmade bed of the world, you left me. Crawling and crumpled among the unwashed sheets of my lifetime. Stained red, I am as guilty as they are. (And twice as silent).
In repentance, I am praying. [I know] I am paying for your sin as well as my own.
A.J. Huffman has published five solo chapbooks and one joint chapbook through various small presses. Her sixth solo chapbook will be published in October by Writing Knights Press. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee, and the winner of the 2012 Promise of Light Haiku Contest. Her poetry, fiction, and haiku have appeared in hundreds of national and international journals, including Labletter, The James Dickey Review, Bone Orchard, EgoPHobia, Kritya, and Offerta Speciale, in which her work appeared in both English and Italian translation. She is also the founding editor of Kind of a Hurricane Press. http://www.kindofahurricanepress.com