je suis...

an after-thought at the end of the day
once important matters are put to rest...
an image just outside visional range
captured out of the corner of an eye...

a glimpse recalled as the cat stretches and settles at the
foot of the bed ready for slumber...
circling three times before she finally
settles within the recesses of white cotton...
recognizing serenity has overtaken conquest
and time for aggression has ceased...

a fleeting recollection as darkness descends,
after thanking God for another day...
praying for promises yet to be granted allotting peace
in the aftermath of longing...
before the thought dies and memory shuts down...

do only the promises whispered in your ear or
written in blood matter?
what of those unspoken devotions delivered to you
as acts of kindness and gentle entreaties...
what of tender pleas breathed into silent pillows?
an undercurrent of sighs and silent tears...

the shudder of understanding as the light blinks out
with only shards of darkness to nestle against...
as the wind pesters the awning
and the terrible moon shadows the barren path...
the universal sound reverberates in the silkened bonds
that could not hold against indifference...

her ancient cries wailed, ripped from her soul into the wind,
oh god, oh god, please, let him love me...
blown back into cold corners where no arms could reach,
mocking modular distress arranged in musical encores,
sung over and over again as her head rocks back and forth
in her nightly dance of denial suborned in darkness,

as she begins to claw at the night demanding succor from pain
staring down the ignoble past leading her here
where she pays for impossible sins against imagined hosts
as love is forbidden again and again;

she holds the edge another moment before she sets it down
and shuts the drawer praying for a word, a gesture...
a patch of warmth to bring satisfaction in solitude once again....
the night denies her request for solace,
the emptiness permeates her cover and her blood turns cold
as it courses her mind one last time...

je suis by ja allen
prism gates

subliminal rejection

you ate my heart from the inside out
until there was nothing left
but a shell, a vessel filled with emptiness;
once it was overflowing with love for you...
spilling over with unrestrained excess;
but the depth of my longing was not enough for you
to return my love because you
observed flaws and shortcomings
in my clover-leafed adoration...
you bore into the suspect center
letting distrust eat the sensuous fiber away
until nothing remained but
tenuous tenderness and hesitant warmth...

the end of desire breeds desperation ––
the astonished turn of love
into subserviency and clinical conversation
about weather and duties...
fearing free flowing repartee that allowed
my timid soul to soar with passion’s promise;
for you gave me so much hope that love
would turn to me at last and grant me
satisfaction and fulfillment in the arms of the one
i had always sought...

it grew crystal clear, however, that it could never be you;
because you would never play the fool
for anyone as naive as me
–– as uninitiated as me...
as unworldly as me –– because i did not recognize
the impediment of my innocence...
one so sheltered could never ignite a fire in you...
could never bring you to accustomed heights.
shy, timid souls must learn to shiver alone,
sheltered beneath the stares of sharks
circling in the murky waters of consensus...

hiding now beneath the surface i watch you circle,
waiting for me to surface so you might
continue your practiced postures wondering
if your perceptions were right again...
as they have always been...for in your world there
are no second chances...
in my world there is no hope for one
who has never learned how to replenish an empty heart....

ja allen
prism gates

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