latex and lace

black lace encasing your devine mold
watching stilletto movements in the candles darkness
a thought arises of the method
(the plan of attack)

the petals of clothing falling
a flowers decay
to reveal the butterfly below

(a spousal warmth known only by the ring bearer)
he quivers at the touch
a rhythmic throbbing of pain
the ache of anticipation

an aroma embeded in the cortex
now a reflex to suckle and root
as the grip strengthens and limbs flex closer

pleasure on the horizon
her eyes fixed on the inner lids
lips trapped beneath the clench of teeth

soon the lordotic posture of release
as the mist runs between the finger-tips
loves scent between the blank sheets
lingers as a reminder of our biologic deed.

celestial

icy fingertips trace the path
lurking down the recesses of human being
deaths grip is in our midst
beyond the bevy of technology and hope
devoid in the intravenous chemistry of resuscitation

i held your hand in a single moment of pain and anguish
now i mentate on my role in your final days
did you think of me as another bearer of pain and demise
or were my words and human touch a moment of solace

i watched you suffer in that final eternity
a fetid decline of retching infection
your spine a literal open book weeping with death

now i stand watching your terminal agony
devoid of solitude and peace
no maam, we will not let you die, we will destroy that peaceful passage into the night
your death is a concert of clinical effort
a blitzkrieg of pharmacology
an impersonal symphony of the algorithm of pulseless death

the battle ends in a whisper
a warrior prepares for the next onslaught
the river of emotion, the tears of loss, another motherless daughter

your pain now beats in my chest
sunken in the depths of cortical reason
a mental checkmark on the path of clinical education

just asthma

But doctor they told me it was just asthma,
the atopic wheeze and mucus laden lungs I have lived with all my life
how can this be?
how can death be so close, they told me it was just asthma!

The tears doctor,
I shed them in anger
each one for the lost days ahead
for the ruined memories
and those I will leave behind.

But doctor they told me my heart was healthy,
strong as an ox, beating on like the drums during the rage of battle,
keeping the pace for eternity, locked in this chest below the shrapnel of war.

How can death be so close doctor,
why did they not tell me in No'Orleans,
I told them it wasn't asthma
and that steroids were not the cure.

Why doctor? Why?
I should have been a better patient,
I should have told them so!
No doctor I will not give up,
I will never give up, I am not a lost cause,
but doctor, they told me it was just asthma!

sleep now my father

sleep now my father
drift away into the catacombs,
you will find her there
your long lost love.

she passed far before you
and traveled leagues beyond,
yet in your mind she was always there
lost in the slow decay of synaptic transmission.

now you rest beyond our grasp
and what remains are the memories we keep
our lost transmissions
encoded in cerebral alchemy.

you survived holocaust and starvation
yet your greatest battle was her love and affection
for she scorned you in death
and marked you with the ink of guilt and regret.

your intellect lost deep in the cortex
yet your strength and rhythm never left you
for those belonged only to you;
she could not control that which she did not possess.

sleep now my father,
pass in gentle dreams of love and admiration
knowing that your fruit has grown strong and ripe.
rest now my father,
in the solice of their bond
a love born from devotion and pride.

banished

I smell your essence,
deep in my soul beyond reason,
induced only by this wretched intoxication.

Excise this wound:
drain the purulent memories,
the septic torment of your anguish.

Draw me closer no more,
for I banish you into the tortured recesses
of this diseased mind.

death of a student

Swirl the aroma ,
volatalize the tannin
inhale the fermintation and savor the love.

Know in this moment your distant place,
deep in the halls of suffering and salvation
a dark force where pain and torture is an honest form of healing.

She is lost in the distance
a joy of life and union for which you have sacrificed
will be your ultimate tug-of-life.

Slide the canula deep within the viscera
order the stab wounds and reap the defintive diagnosis
I speak the reality of disease:
a sound so fetid and scorned that as the syllables pass these lips
life ends and death begins.

You died on the slab today
I was only trying to prolong your eternal death
and you slipped beyond my controlling grasp.

How dare you escape into the light and warmth of heaven
I was not done with you, I had more pain to inflict, more questions to ask,
and far more insight to gain.

Did you not know you were my selfish pursuit, my academic endevour!
Read between the lines,
we foster mistakes
encourage exploration
in the wake of your loss, pain, suffering and death.

the doctor's daughter

The wine
still as darkness
in the glass,
the soundtrack
mixing the sounds
of life and art
in my mind.

Desiring silence,
yet loathing the fallen sun
for taking you away.

One moment your essence
visceral
the heartbeat eternal.
Next, miles from the pain
of the same distant breeze.

The doctor's daughter
the bronze goddess of passion-
I can't keep my mind off of you.

~j. allen

the depth of disease

seeing you there
beneath the cover of silken bliss
wrapped in the glow of lust

yearning is my disease

feeling tantric waves
the tidal fall of keratin
upon curves in duality

words upon pursed lips
inarticulate in the darkness
known only to the diseased

she wispers: I am your infection

you are the febrile response
the dilation of arterioles
the constriction of venules
arisen is the army of acid!

temporal effects in trance
the sequence known:
undulating peristalsis
writhing satisfaction
excitation-contraction coupling.

the deed to my end has been purchased

An irony teeming in life:
the personal choice of existence devoid in the creation of self,
yet the possession of the sinful ability to bring it to an end.

Lost are we in the divine decision to conceive,
yet that same divinity will cast us to the depths;
eternal despair, desolation, and damnation
through the autonomic hand of deaths delusion.

The desire for an end,
[think not the mechanism through melancholy and insanity]
such that the ebb and flow no longer justify an earthly existence,
when life, which was created in divinity has gone awry.
[What then mighty mitral?]

When tissue and genome run amok,
the ethereal architecture dissolved and diseased,
metastatic and pleomorphic as the seedlings spread roots
far beyond the grasp of vascular surveillance.
Suffering for the sins of the acid core,
and the translation of truncated oncogenic abnormality.

Why then should one wait for the fetid end?
Paying the debt owed in creation?
Baring the cross of heavenly transit?

Eternities road is not my burden,
nor my cross to bare!
The deed to my end has been purchased,
the financial transaction as the crown breached the womb.

a reality of fallability

I ponder now upon this state,
a former position,
that of the humbled man;
a reality of fallability.

One moment the master of minutia,
the next, silenced by the hand of genetic correlation
and the dominant inheritance calculation.

Yet, I bask now in the wisdom of those around me,
who speak of faculties needed far beyond the utility
of aneuploidy.

The word of a confidant-lover,
a friend and collegue,
can lift a broken man above the deletion in spirit.

Be it bleeding scarlet or burned on the whites
of pulp and paper,
I once again see the banality of a letter,
the jaded belief of eternity guilded,
in the biased singular extension of limitless destiny!