Moments Of Vim Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The moments that you feel
Most alive, like a replenished sea of blood,
Are the
Nights where the bats screech and dart
Like javelins and spears
Straight to your carnival of a head -
Nights where the hoarse mimicry of the canines,
And the harsh reticence of the felines
Are lined up on the street,
Filling the air with exuberant portent -
Nights where the house is very much
Alive with stillness, when everyone
Signed resignation upon their beds,
Moored to the bleak corners of a room
With the musk of the late-night petrichor,
The staggering of the lungs that ache
Like salient horses astride a prickly track -
Nights where you muse over the lulled quirk
Of a woman who wore mauve dresses
And impaled the buttons close to her body -
Nights where you feel as if the lycanthropes
Of the night encircle you, and encumber you
With their insidious litany of a wading bawl -
Nights where you open the satiated room
Oozing with people that are blighted from skin
To bones with disdain, anguish and coldness -
The moments that you feel
Most alive, like a rifle varnished with reinforcement
From the gods of obsequiousness
Are the
Nights where the priests talk about life,
And the pilgrims talk about the purging of the heavens,
And the insane people talk about the verve
Past the pews and straight into hellfire -
Nights where you wake up,
And think: I’m still alive
With much potent strength to vie,
And write a poem of vague fealty,
Or tell an allegory to a friend,
Or sigh upon the crows and sparrows.
And these moments of vitality
Will be the maladies
That will reduce us into inertness.