with a crack, the whip backlashes,
ripping the pale flesh of dawn...
so comes the sun, a boil, raw and bleeding
to remind me –– it has come to pass...
the relapse of the sinner breeds contempt,
drifting lust from city to town;
on his back is power –– the tower of the watcher...
his eye on the sun.
an incredible grasp of heaven...
no wonder he smirks
as i work to keep ahead, just one horizon at a time.
the irony of his tongue
bewilders my run up the quick grass of summer;
too hot for retreat,
my feet blur as i watch the orb
grow malignant in my dreams...
the steady rhythm of time clops behind,
always sure...
i've known him deep inside my secret desire...
never escaping the shadows of his long torso ––
always one cloud behind...
no place to run to ––
just a place to escape from,
the soul of my own footsteps;
i tread the decadence of smiles i knew
were too old,
words too rooted in innuendo, rotten silence...
god, has no one left yesterday behind?
stale and impatient for this pursuer to catch me,
i turn and shout obscenities to the acrid wind...
my breath is blown back in my face;
laughter rolls from the corners where no man has known me...
in anger, i turn to discover the pale bird i held
was crushed under my unthinking foot...
the watcher has past me by
and now i follow the trail of his ass
along the narrow pass
where no one sees me or hears
my last whimper of protest...
ja allen
soliloquies
who's sorry now?
