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Being judged - being interpreted... |
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 |