Vis-À-Vis Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Moon or any other moon-god
Or demi-god you caress at night:

Concave or
Convex

The children of spite
You read stories of hoaxed,
Cajoling animals to
In a den of thieves as thick
As fountains of cesspool or
Putrescence of dreams:

Fact or
Loose fiction -
What vision is this?

A disheveled man, with one
Arm poking the Sun
With faint attempts
A tin can, desolate
Yearning for alms not of pecuniary measure
But of life:

Lust for life
Or death

Sitting in a top bunk
As the Sun escalates,
The alarm clocks twinge
The pangs of the arms
Signal 7: 00 AM
Commanding you
To force-feed
Force-pray
Pseudo-appreciation for life
Force-bathe
Force-dress in your goddam
Best dress suit
Or uniform
Or a feigned oblivion:

To execute
Or not

People, people,
Randy people,
Castigated
By the lack of hope
And love,
Blinded
By the indoctrination
Of the sweltering, autumn-skinned
Books that skinny-dipped
Into the cantankerous ocean
Of deception points.
We rally across the streets
Of dead soldiers
And wan vultures:

Run or
Walk sluggishly

A drizzle
Marches atop a heap of leaves,
Sliding past the silver-mane
Of the rivers with the miasma
Of the moon lucidly burning.
The trees are skewered,
Their roots are felled and stubbornly acquiesce
Are we retired soldiers?

Pathetic people
With a dash of avarice
The love of their lives:
Watches of glinting gold,
Gorged purses,
Lavish suites,
How good are these people
Inside themselves:

Convinced or
Confused

As I was writing,
With my tremulous fingers
Resting on the still waters
Of the typewriter,
The red moon was endlessly
Pirouetting until it has transformed
Into a black, arachnian Sun
Of destitution.
Or are we the black Suns of destitution?
How good are we
In this sick, vile game of
Dog-eat-dog
Boy-eat-girl
War-eat-peace
Money-eat-substance
God-eat-demon
Or sometimes
Demon-eat-omnipotent-being
Or better yet,
Demon-eat-humans
Or humans=demons.
I am baffled in this
Labyrinthine equation.

How are we?
We are marred
We always were.