Game Of Thieves Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I’m tired and siphoned.

Trains leave their stations
And meander through the
Subways.

The people of the marketplace
Trifle with a morose longing
And leave shortly afterwards.

The coquettes and the drunks
Frequent the taverns, with their
Souls poking out of their gut.

The system tells me
Go and wager everything -
This is a stagnant derision.

The cold hands of trouble
A groveling minion
Of a blundered farce.

Even the birds flee places
A transient migration
An aimless hover.

The Sun slumbers behind
The hills and the Moon
Will soon speak of all dimensions.

It’s when you’re on
The line where you notice
That the flames are cold as ice.

This game of thieves
A constantly acquiescing thievery.
Stolen breaths, stolen paths.

It’s when you speak
That you forget that you’ve a task
And that is to build and break.

To have and never hold.
These are secrets; too ridiculous, too bold.
Such small wonder, this circus.

It’s when the hands twine
That you know there’s something
To shatter like women tossing vases against walls.

It’s when you dance
That you notice the flaws
Of the music and your feet.

As I pour that silent drink
Upon the naked glass, I can hear
The slow trickling

And agog, with my lips ajar
I can still feel this superfluity -
Help, I have nothing.

I have nothing
No one
Too much or too little?

I am tired
And siphoned.