dying touch

frail hands before me
the cold touch of spasmodic impulses
the purple and black reaction
of the dying crescendo.

holding your hands marks the cold flesh:
loss of the warm bath of blood,
the viscous nutrients starve the sensation
burning the finger-tips away as the wick of a flame.

the love embrace of intertwined digits
replaced by the desquamations disfiguring mark
masking the beauty of tactile intimacy.

~ j. allen

contamination

where have all the liberals gone?
why have they been cast to the outer limits of human understanding?
do we not all bleed of patriotic pride in our heritage?
why then, can we not cross examine the doctrines of society
without the scourge and wrath of the rightous?

allow me to ask questions of the high order of skull and bones;
never having basked in the glow of a sacred fire
nor walked the hallowed halls of the league of ivy and fraternity,
yet my heart has earned the respect of intellect
believing that my inquisitions demand action and response!

do not silence the green world which i believe grows in us all
a fundamental ideology of peace, equality and justice,
yet the rightous proclaim a monopoly on the tenenants of the oath and law of scouts,
mere boys who recognize the fallacy in the rightous arguement,
the banal ramblings and greedy consumption of global neocons.