failure in the fifh...

once the storied seal was severed;
the floodgates released;
a penitent soul began combing
wreckage for her lost mind
whose trek toward normalcy halted when
the last sane script aborted.
beyond the windswept shore,
beneath the carrion skull,
she wept as you handed her the final ultimatum
with her head locked in place,
eyes downcast, diverted
afraid to meet yours…

the ebony eagle eyed her white, white skin
transparent within sheltered coves
covered with windblown sand and ash.
her naked frame shivered in dread as
she awaited annihilation – banishment from
the kangaroo kingdom…
age marbled her mind and grayed
her sallow features…her concave chest heaved
with each sharp intake of toxic air…
the poisoned gasp of unrelieved anxiety;
she awaited your final words…
finally recognizing them as you spit them at her,
“you have proven to be unworthy…”

the words pierced like knives and severed her soul…
pointing your rigid finger, you twisted the point
in deep, relishing the intense pain revealed
in her quivering mouth and wet eyes
“you disgust me with your needs,
your desires, your constant whining
about love and tomorrow when you
know nothing about either…
your body is imperfect, your mind is
specious, you mean nothing to me…”
with that you grabbed her hair and dragged
her to the exit and shoved her outside;
she tripped and fell on jagged rocks;
her hands and her knees began to bleed
as she got to her feet and looked back
she expected to see you staring at her with your dead eyes…

but you were not there…you’d turned into stone,
black and lustrous set against the raging sea;
the ocean spray foamed around you as swirling
eddies pulled you loose, your large bulk finally
sinking under the weight of your convictions…

failure in the fifth
prism gates
ja allen

love seasons...

you allow me inside to share your art
sealed within subtle shades of you…
stainless mesh alongside serrated and lethal knives;
bountiful counters and wooden accoutrements…
there is steam, heat and hearty conversation
as you wield words as carefully as
you carve and chop against the grain…
i listen to each word, examining it
for hidden meaning,
innuendo or surprise…
but there is little subterfuge—
just careful honesty and
cautious optimism…

as i observe your painstaking preparations,
your slow and hesitant advances toward me,
always sensitive, yet, unendingly sensual,
i find my capacity to trust enlarge,
sensing a depth never felt before
inside your invitation to partake…
often i feel consumed by my feelings for you…
stilled and silenced by my need to be with you—
at times filled with desperate longing and dreams of endless
kisses and nights nestled in your arms…
within the confines of our narrow world,
no one could love you more…
i realize this longing is mine alone …
that i cannot fathom your secret soul or your
grasp of this fragile reality…

if i discover that i shall never belong in your world
or any sphere that matters to the heart…
then this last door will be closed forever…
the interim is marked with pain and uncertainty
as i await the inevitable;
anticipating the slow silence piercing the intimacy of our
diluted conversation
as you defy the rhythm of our dance and override
my love with caution…
will your inexplicable movement usher me
toward the exit?
out into the cold where the biting wind
chills the blood on my lips…
or will you take me inside and let me
sit at your table forever?

love seasons
prism gates
by ja allen

Judgment

She balks at the doorway hesitant to enter,
Clinging to the rapacious rope
As her hand revisits undulations between each tiny knot…
She worries the surface of the hemp ring,
Her fingers dancing over the uneven strings wet with sweat…

Awfully assembled are ultraistic men who dare her to enter
Where they can edit her slow motion pirouette
Above distinct lines coalesced within subtle shades of hazel and henna;
The pain is distant and mythically muted while the dance
Continues even as uneven music convulses in the background…

She resists the orderly, who grasped her tangled hair,
Pulling her forward toward the spotlight
Fixed on the center point where blind edges converge
Slicing the image from stem to stern
In equal parts portioning the layers of guilt between
Extreme enigmatic vestibules…

In their eyes she senses clarion conviction shattering her assurity
As they fixedly watch her unwind,
The counter clockwise spirals slowing until the moment
Stands still and they step toward her…
Each taking her in a ritualistic embrace; holding tight,
Circling the clinical space in rapid succession…

One after another flashing through the pinpoint glare
Staring into her unblinking eyes,
Forcing the satiated silk around her knees,
Parsing her sighs and mumbled innuendos,
Her holistic hyperbole and annexed anxiety
Probing the intensity of her need
Against the backdrop of languid fulfillment
In the wretched twists and turns
On the placated platinum floor…

They gather the limp body and place her content
Upon a cynical platform labeled salvation,
Tempered by a momentary posture of grace…
As flames leap to the heavens
She takes her final bow, spinning quietly,
Twisting away from the intense heat…

Judgment
Prism Gates
JA Allen

Sometimes...

Sometimes I need to still your rage,
Your petulant annoyance and hurt feelings
By placing my mouth over yours, kissing you
Until you forgive the irritation that drove
Your anger to this frenzied pitch…

Sometimes in the midst of our quarrel I would love
To reach over and take your hand and kiss
Each of your fingertips, all the while staring deeply into your eyes,
Watching for a signal of softening;
An ultimate plea for deep and abiding love…

Sometimes when you make me feel a failure
Because I have not lived up to your expectations,
I want to press my body up against yours and hug you
So tightly that we become one against the darkness
We weave around each other…

Sometimes at night when my loneliness engulfs me
And leaves me weak with anguish,
I long to feel you lying next to me, breathing softly
Against my neck with your arms caressing
Me and your hands traversing my body
Until I turn to face you and wait while you
Come to me and kiss away my tears again and again until the soft light begins
To filter through the liquid shades of dawn…

This love I feel for you is stronger than all the words I possess…
And words are my pride and my power;
But there are times when they fail me juxtaposed against the
Magnitude of this love…this disquieting and demanding love
That is slowly eating me alive while I remain
Powerless to explain it or stop its progression…

My only hope is that it shall be reciprocated – that
It shall be returned to me in equal measure;
Given that remote possibility I cling to hope like
Paint to canvass…
Like a child to his mother’s breast…
Like dewdrops to early morning grass…
I need to believe that the quiver in my soul
At the thought of loving you
Vibrates in harmony with your intense
And growing need for me…

Sometimes…
Prism Gates
By JA Allen

jezebel...

i voided the room…
blank photos barren of face or form;
white-draped paintings complementing colorless walls
stripped bare of essence, of expectation…
emptied of emotion
within echoing silence…no music, no voices, no weeping…
a clock’s faint ticking notes the passing…

surfaces are clean, cleared of clutter and concern…
sterile, starched and solitary,
lying face down with hands lashed to Birdseye posts…
no touching allowed.
no sighs, no abject and self-effacing apologies…
no humiliation…
no pleas for love…
negation – nothing – nullified…

sinking into soft denial and denigration,
where betrayal flutters eyelids and postures
with paralyzing pain and soul-wrenching sarcasm…
she laughs at me
hands on her hips, slapping her knee...
“fool,” she scoffs, “you deserve this, again…”

“he loved me,” i whisper…
”he said he would love me forever.”
“which meant what?” she demands…”six weeks?
look at you now…you are lacerated, ground glass.”
“but he promised!” i scream…
“they all do,” she sighs…”when will you learn?
they cannot love you…”
she taps her forehead meaningfully,
gesturing for me to follow her

now sliding into silky soft recesses where
she leads me; i follow a pattern of concentric circles
ever tighter – growing smaller and smaller
until like the pain of memory and loss,
i slip away…
forlorn and forgotten

she will never forgive my love;
she never has…

jezebel…
prism gates...
ja allen

dream lover...

the specter coalesces on the surface of my dream;
willing me to surrender…
i sink inside steamy walls where you wait…
you take her hand and pull her toward you;
embracing her, kissing her passionately but
i feel nothing because it is a dream…

i stare as you make love to her and the emptiness
washes over me, stilling my heart and
relegating my senses to absence…
feeling nothing when
desire trembles in every extremity and explodes at each movement…
but dead embers
never feel want or stir tender passion…

features remain indistinct – unrefined…blurred
as you attempt serial connection…
for i never see into your eyes or feel
the warmth of your mouth on mine –
or feel the touch of your hand upon my cheek…

i know your words, your thoughts;
i hear your sighs and your unending silence…
i listen to your concerns, your desires—your
memories of lost loves…

while i remain a shadow who adores you
bartering for your attention,
waiting, always waiting for a sign of love…
an imperceptible nod of acquiescence,
a bend in your relentless resistance…

the specter arouses from his slumber,
shudders imperceptibly,
grabbing my shoulders and pointing to my left
where all the lost loves smile and nod…
amused by my sudden shock…

he beckons me to take my place at the end
of the long line…
as they shift to make space, i blink back tears
realizing the quixotic twist
of this agonized long-lost love affair…

dream lover...

prism gates

ja allen

gabriel...

the blast blew me into yesterday
destroying the delicate hold on my fabric of existence…
annihilating intricate bonds of lucidity and love,
while Gabriel trumpeted my return in wretched exact trills…
his jewel encrusted mouth wailing a torturous, wrenching, guttural agony…
exacting broken bones and bitter bile…

i spit my teeth into my hands and watch my eyes disintegrate
as slowly I sense an exit from the grayest of avenues…
saturated in blood and broken by betrayal, I journey here to die…
as I have each time…for the same reason…
the end of days has returned again sooner than expected
with violence as its method of operation…

it resides within me stronger than before – the garrisoned
grasp that blended beauty strong for a moment—
that positioned passion for realization and promise for awakening…
but the broker bargained too late, asking too much for so little…
the negotiations turned sour and died on the table without arbitrage,
in the final analysis only pity was offered…

it was put out quietly on a paper plate, shoved under the door
without a sound…just a whisper of doubt as each minute
ticked away in seclusion under the wary eye of expectation, waiting
always waiting and watching;
finally recognizing the pattern of destruction filling in the final
formation as the truth revealed its presence.

its cryptic cruelties bit deep into my heart, causing seizures of
pronounced colorless residual anxiety….
brokered bottom line exaggerates the essence of loss…
jagged with ragged edges and pointed rejections;
for the end result is banishment and betrayal…
the gag of universal truth…

once again a prisoner of the end game…
bastion broken by bigots who careened the carrier
and jettisoned hope and promise for the sake of normalcy;
i am not there for you – to incorporate into ordinary dreams;
i cannot exist there for you only here deep inside where senses
translate into surreal dreams of love and longing…

gabriel
prism gates
by ja allen