who's sorry now?

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?

cremation blues...

shame shrouds the silhouetted labyrinth of longing,
cloaking all avenues of relief,
revoking any residue of rescue...
the lies and betrayals line the pyre
soon to be memory’s charred embers
denying the essence...
the truth of any moment we shared
built upon fabrication and fantasy
in the urgency of constructing perfection...

as the fire of your anger consumes layer upon layer,
thin filaments of love float away
higher and higher caught in the upheaval
of heat and turmoil pushing the
accusations over the top, boiling out into
an atmosphere where infected
hate breeds its intolerance and spits out
the contempt left at its core...
a sinister stump of insurmountable detestation

the death of trust breeds loneliness;
the rust of exposure that erodes
adoration and love into serial suspicion;
no one returns whole from the
ceremony of disavowal where deafness rules
without arms of forgiveness...
where the only path allows for one alone to tread
back to the beginning...
standing alone in denegation and degradation...

the cavern deepens with each step;
until the firmament gives way under the weight...
i shift trying to see the lines you drew;
but the tears blur my vision and i am lost,
no longer able to discern the Truth you outlined...
my heart only harkens to the love
that connected me to you, now blackened,
tarnished and hardened in the furnace blast
of the hatred fueling this cremation...

cremation blues...
ja allen
prism gates....

killing me softly...

in the background strumming softly, fingers grasping,
caressing the slender neck of his instrument...
he slides his hand up and down, bending the fret,
eyes closed tightly, anticipating that exact moment

when he hits the sweetest spot, allowing its quiet vibration
to sink in - underscoring mood;
hesitating to let the feeling go...
knowing he can never recapture it exactly
the same way again - tantalized by the plaintive note...

she watches his tender mouth - the way his lips part
as he reaches the chord’s climax,
mouthing words under his breath over and over
in rhythm to the internal cadence he feels...

beads of sweat appear on his forehead as he bends
toward the strings, plucking them separately
for a moment inside the soft drum beat and acoustical rhythm...
she waits for the moment when he lifts his almond eyes
to find her watching him make love to her with his music...

his gaze sweeps the cavernous room, observing
but not absorbing pulsating pressures
igniting the flames of passion and pleasure as the piercing
note floats like a roar over the forest floor...

the baritone begs for mercy and release as the
bass pleads for more in a cresting crescendo
with bodies writhing and spinning inside the rhythm
entwined in each others arms waiting...
the lone note slowly subsides as he stops the vibration...

the crowd erupts with applause when the soft melody moves
to the fore - over-arching the electric moment
stilled but not forgotten as connoisseurs stir in chairs
restless, anticipating another high...

he moves back into position, finding a rhythm fragment
he molds into his own carrying it forward
swaying gently, caressing her neck again softly,
his fingers finding corners and curves
making his way up and down the steps of the movement....

killing me softly with his song
ja allen

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