by A.J. Huffman
marching at midnight, I count the clocks
melting across this desertscape of my mind.
Tickless timebombed footpaths mark land
I have yet to traverse. I blink and fade
a new shade across this canvas. Horns pause
in prayer for their preferred pastel. Granted!
I am the god-
mother of garish self-
Say cheese, before I choose the next
beast to frame my shot.