Motionless by A.J. Huffman

I lie awake in bed, eyes unfortunately
open, watching night revolve
around me.  Human moon dial,
painfully aware of every glaring
second’s tick, I talk to the hourly
change of shadow-guards
that blindly stripe ceiling and wall,
appropriately mimicking cell.
The sun is the key I covet.
I dream its teeth devour me, burn
me, turn me into effigical outline:
sole victim of time’s maniacal onslaught.

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, 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. www.kindofahurricanepress.com