Any Shade of Redundance
Viscious colors fall – Silent!
My eyes burn mute with their echo.
Imagination’s wasteland weighs
my wrists. I cannot feel . . .
is an abomination of senses. Sounding
in ghostly corners of dawn, everything stretches
in and through . . .
something else ovulates
inside a mind. A diamond or a demon?
at the irrelevancies implied in the inquisition.
(As if it matters.)
Sparkle and burn both scar the same.
A.J. Huffman © 2012