A.J. Huffman: Three Poems

If I Had Been Born In The Thirties

I could have been a Bukowski.

A Kerouac.

I could have traveled

cross-country.

Lived alone.

Worked odd jobs.

And slept in the dirt.

I could have had the balls.

I could have had the stamina.

If I had been born in the thirties.

If I had been born in the thirties

my writing could have been filled

with strange places.

Strange faces.

A groupie here.

A fan there.

And a few whores

(if you can label a man a whore --

I believe I can)

in between.

I could have smoked.

And drank.

And raised hell

with the best of them.

I could have.

I would have.

If I had been born in the thirties.

But.

If I had been born in the thirties

you could never have --

you would never have --

read these words.

If I had been born in the thirties.

I could never have held this space.

The Devil’s Plaything

Somewhere

in a forgotten corner

of a room

she calls hell,

a tiny angel

huddles closer

to the fire.

She is tired.

And exposed.

But for the filthy ash

that covers the points

of her wings.

Too heavy

to carry her

to dawn.

So she waits.

Feeding her skin

with the stolen gift

of some imagined god.

For the beast

that will make her

his bride.

Without Language

“Absolutes are coercion.”

                        -- Allen Ginsberg

I do not believe in edit.

Change a word.

Change a line.

You have changed the mind.

That thought --

no --

that knew.

The shape before the silence.

Is gold.




A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published her work in literary journals, in the U.K. as well as America, such as Avon Literary Intelligencer, Eastern Rainbow, Medicinal Purposes Literary Review, The Intercultural Writer's Review, Icon, Writer's Gazette, and The Penwood Review.