Midnight Press Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The midnight press;
Encumbering like the moon's
Macadamized miasma
Jaded on the water's paroxysmal
Apprehension;
Like motionless stones
Underneath the waters
In the asylum of the midnight press…
Ravaging - the currents are restive
As the stones tremble in a tumult
Like how the collision of our bones
The latticing of our mesh,
Pulsation upon pulsation,
Impressions upon tapestries,
Lunging athwart my trellis
Into my windowpanes and
Commit the thievery
Of the clocks as I sleep silently -
The midnight girdles the world
Close to somnolence;
The ambivalence of the wind
Lurches and dwindles
Like a crystal-shard tethered
To time's persuasion;
All the others are stolen
Away into repose:
The cities are dead as
The streetlamps howl
The frequented places are
Shunned into abeyance
The hounds and the felines
Postpone the melee;
And now, that still phantom
Of the moon ensnared
In the rivulet is serenaded
By the rattling of the stones
As the waters sift
Through the small distances
You and I yield.
Again, I can hear them
A euphonious sanguinity;
Fire against fire,
Our bones collided
The contours meld
As the midnight presses.