Frantic Fretting Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The aerial assault
Of the derelicts
Carried a whole cocktail
Of macabre.

I found myself kneeling
In the night of a prickly,
And ominous spec of light.
Even the specters cringed,
And the baleful omissions
Of their vestige that whimpered
At the very sight
Of my shriveled silhouette.

The spigot of my reminiscences
Is left open, and even the laconic
Promises were enmeshed
To the convoluted roads
Of garish cognizances.

The vengeful predators
Alight on petrified twigs,
The arms of the clocks
Engage in tête-à-têtes in
Between two yearning souls
Of transatlantic musings.

Even the scent of the tulips
Whittle away.
Even the height of a
High-pouncing lover
Wuthers in stance
And topples in a meandering toboggan.

We’ve no hope here,
Only a futile attempt
In grasping ephemeral
Conditions.