Bourbon Character, Lad Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Full bourbon character,
Surfeit crowds
Regardless of the moniker
Hoisted upon the tactless clouds.

Starved, like tigers
Burning like the embers,
We don’t care who sees,
And we were clandestine soldiers.

Soldered to the back
Of the night’s illustrious fury
The heaven’s mirth entangled
The quandaries of the pack.

Not so bourbon a character
Only poised, with cold rain.
The origins of fire,
Are the origins of death
And life,
Rue,
And the scent of the macabre
Or the putrefaction of the humid streets
During the drizzle -
Dear petrichor.
Not so much a kindred to the world.

Tout grin, to the alley cat
Let her tell you of the fabled alley deaths
Converse with the patrons,
And you’d know the difference
Between lost time,
And the churning spaces of vacuity.

Or the thin line
Between oppressed memories,
And unmanned bestiary.

Walking, as if stitching the concrete
Dab the wounds of the automobile.
Here, another bus sighs
In deceitful contrition.
Not so much a bourbon character, isn’t it?

Where’s my soul?
Did I starve it into oblivion, yes?
A poor mongrel of reminiscences?
A tatterdemalion hopeful?
A sighing senile man?
Or just
Possessed by bourbon?