Poems by Amanda R. Huckins


my newer parts are impressionable.
i dont smoke drugs or eat drugs or
drink alcohol anymore and midnight
is late but not too late to eat mayonnaise
out of the jar off one of my fingers.
didn’t witness the hit, but witnessed the run.
i can see but not the whole thing.
i can put on tea and wish i were drunk
and puke into my memory.
i had a dream that i forgot to pay.
insurance is buying most of the resin
they’re selling to my rotten teeth. rot hurts.
i’m the therapist of my poem.
a friend of mine went to spain
and she got free glasses right away.
i don’t want to go to spain in order to see.
i want to go to a dead town and
be the school with my brilliant, mending lover.
there’s a small cosmos we want to try.
so many of us are crying to crawl there. will we?
too many peers are in europe to save america?
they spend all this time in there.
something about the wild hunt.
touching and hallucinating
on our touching, hearing a voice
inside my silent reading voice say
“this is where life comes from”.
the soft warm wet emotions, the cosmic fluff,
holes in my flesh filled flush with fibrous boll.


i showed up to experience
every pain i hear about
in a xeroxed sort of way.
on my walk here i thought
we live in the fruit of a world
whose roots just died.
was imagining my cucumber plants
on the day i decided it no longer
made sense to water them.
before, i seemed to realize

that i am a sun, capable of
producing light and warmth.
not by my will,
by a process that just
happens to be my skeleton.
when i see people telling the truth,
i get so excited for paradise.
then i remember how we will never go there.
right now i seem to realize that i
am in fact a moon. i want us to keep walking.
premature terror seizes me again and again
and threatens to ruin my future before it even hardens.
i’ll never write another essay because
people have to read for essays to be useful.
we are not behind on the news.
we are pulverized by it.
food is being used to train us
and we eat it but on good days
disobey regardless.

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