40 acres

it is simple enough—
this dead love…
this dark-headed memory
of deadly eyes
and a fear of falling…

delivered at last from quivering flesh
tortured by doubt, flailing
at feelings too deep to resuscitate,
numbed by sensations too
intense to endure…

now i rest my head in white air
and count the bitter stars;
they blink as always
like stones under water…

the silence descends all at once…
down pipes, through tunnels
where i once heard pigeons scream…nothing;
the scent of retreat is preceded by
this sonorously still room…

i turn my cheek to the cold;
inside the gaping holes,
pockets of hot air, like geysers,
buoy me from one plane
of indifference to another…


40 acres...soliloquies
ja allen