by A.J. Huffman

Pickles and glitter crunch.  My eyes,
sanely soft (the glowing is tasteful
ly toxic) in the moon.  Light falls
on salted kisses.  Too tight[ly strung]
together.  We are a visual meal.
Viscous and vital.  And blatantly bold
in our organic alchemy.  We shift
and shatter.  Re-forming layers:
in rock and bone.  We break
boundaries with our fingers.  And feeling
the aurorial edges (soft, what colors
lead the f[l]ight), we underestimate
only the flow.  Of information.
And informal misogynistic mind
melds.

A.J. Huffman is a poet and freelance writer in Daytona Beach, Florida.  She has previously published six collections of poetry all available on Amazon.com.  She has also published her work in numerous national and international literary journals.  Most recently, she has accepted the position as editor for four online poetry journals for Kind of a Hurricane Press ( www.kindofahurricanepress.com ).  Find more about A.J. Huffman, including additional information and links to her work at http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000191382454 and https://twitter.com/#!/poetess222.