dead roses...

i think of the words you left me…
i imagine what they meant
coiled inside dead roses, black linen
innuendo curling the edges…
the acidic moisture of your tongue
clipping each syllable…
how you hate what i lack in
substance, surfeit, sensuality…
as you imagine i harbor my center,
keeping you forever adrift
denying you what you seek most in me…

the denouement is silence, a deadly void…
no retribution, no accusations;
vapor over pyres steaming in cold repression,
hissing half-truths hurled from on high.
petals of love once caressing, wrapping us
in secret harmony
turned poisonous, each syllable a psychic prick
exposing jealous asides
as we turn our backs on each other and wait
for the other to return,
knowing the inevitability of never…

love is fragile, beheaded blossoms
bleeding layers of loss,
pressed and pasted inside tissued tiers…
broken promises boxed,
set aside but never examined for shadows,
retching rejection in plastic bottles;
death of dreams and passion acknowledged
packed in trunks – put away…
yet anxiety lingers like left-over aroma,
perfumed saga of madness
in the unending aftermath of denial…

dead roses
by ja allen
prism gates

death throes...

when i look deep into your eyes i see my reflection...
rain streams down the window panes,
wishing away desire…
grief haunts the shadows of your face
as you bend over me,
my tears merely a memory imprint…

slowly you slide the pillow
over my face,
pressing down gently but firmly…
murmurs that i love you
remain repressed and internal…
stilled in the vacuum of your intent…

my empty arms seek to encompass you…
my lips long to kiss you
and whisper darling – as always…
but you do not relinquish;
you press down again and again…
never releasing me from your iron grip

i sink further – my struggles lessen…
i cannot counter the ceaseless pressure
that leaves me muted, unrealized…
my mind cries out for succor
realizing that i do not wish to die…
crucified by your calculated detachment…

i love you with unlimited devotion…
i crave the heat of your passion and the
depth of your need – i wove the fabric of our longing
into this mythical quilt covering us,
allowing the exploration of our blended souls…
you are my eternal heaven, my soul mate…

yet you will this premature death for lack of feeling –
the sensation of touch;
you abandon eternal affirmation and commitment
seeking perfection in another form…
in one you can hold and cleave to;
replacing salvation with sensuality…

nothing will supplant my love for you…as
long as you live the sun will forever fail to
warm your blood and heat your inestimable passion
like the dead love you hold at arm’s length…

death throes
prism gates
ja allen

metamorphosis...

this is what i crawled for -
like a bloated reptile
toward birth?
through days of submerged sun
with no lengthy shadows to lead me;
an inky lizard tracing my lineage
through the maze, running
along trails of ice and scorn…

bumping into waxed walls cemented with hurt and denial
sealed off from memory and reconciliation
without an echo or a crack to breathe,
blinded from refracted doubt;
the chills of pain seemed unbearable…
soft-souled men with cleavers hacked at me
as i passed through sacred and scarred corridors,
my head tucked carefully under my rude appendage…

their sharp tongues bled with words
dropping like spite around me,
running down my back and into my shoes;
but i gather them quickly and stuffed them
under my webbed wing…
the great tar and feather tracks
mark my passing….

and for what? to be borne? to bear my realization?
a transparent film i ripped from reason…
all this to see through my past
and gather my own after birth?
the blood in my shoes is my own now…
i need follow no one’s footsteps;
i leave this age, an anachronism,
born of betters,
evolved to extinction…

the wagging tongues are silent now,
the cave of my passing sealed
like my lips…no one shall follow me…
none haunt me nor question my sanity;
aloft on the wings of my back…
memory melts in flight…

metamorphosis
soliloquies
ja allen

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