Fool's Den Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

You will never, ever fool me.
Whenever I enter a trance
And write poetry
You feign exuberance that lingers
Like a dangling ivy.

Whenever I told you that
Bukowski enthuses me.
Or
Neruda is stifling like the night.
You only shook it off
With an uncouth shrug.

When you told me
You pirouette in synchronicity
With the sounds that were
Gentle and festooned with
Eloquence,
I even went to your afternoon executions.
I went to your moon-glazed excursions
Because I was tethered.

But when I told you,
This is why I wrote this.
Or
The lions are out tonight, darling.
You only said, “Okay.”
Do you think I am too stupid
To recognize how blase
You were behind your integument?
I am not good in resisting
Or denying invitations
But I think I am bestowed
With a whimsical intuition.
Don’t try your arbitrary detours
On me.

When I told you,
I spent nights coiled
In bed like a chagrined moth
Of marred flight.
You only said,
You’re incapacitated.
And that was it.
It was like punctuating
Undemanding equations.

If you think you have been wronged
And bigoted,
Think again.
This shrewd thievery has taken
Me into austere nights
Of undulating through time
And lost things
And you only said,
Yeah, everybody hurts.
But not so much a hurting, isn’t it?

How to compare one?
Nights of scouring thieves,
Or reluctant culprits ensconcing the truth?
I know nothing
Except
That
I know nothing.