Travelers Welcome

Travelers Welcome

Sunday, April 7, 2013

The Cake Is A Lie

by A.J. Huffman
These makeshift bloodprints scream at me
from all sides as I fight, unsighted, through the maze
I believe to be your mind. Sidestepping emotion-
al boobytraps designed to destruct us both,
I am your willing guinea pig. Pre-programmed,
I am following. The sound of your promised touch
is enough to drive me forward through each level’s devastation . . .
Are you/they designed to test me or destroy me?

That conception turns me inside. Out
is a concept I abandoned eons ago, before I began
dodging the precariously balanced bullets
spinning on ice I will never be able to see
even as I direct its flow (or so I’ve been taught).
It blankets my view in void
space, begging for a [port]hole: an escape
hatch to actualization. I try to vocalize
this new ideology, but you have not granted me a voice. Over
night I simmer in the cold eye of [ac]knowledge-
Meant to tax my understanding of what is . . .
True: extraction is both feasible and attainable.
I allow my conscience to ascend. A lever
is broached. Green lights follow
me . . . spanning the fray
                                        [ed ends of another nameless abyss].

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