Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Rookie (April 28,1992 / Philippines)

Interpolation - Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The walls spoke in a languid manner,
And the linens were soiled with a premature macabre;
The verses were donned in a crude maneuver
This sallow-faced man ferrets into abysses.

The clocks unsheathed tongues like rapiers
Such felled cadences – a cacophony of blasphemed fealty
I am compelled by the Gods that were asleep in my mundane excursions
The subtle nuisances held ears – I am far-flung like the
Disintegrating bodies of burning establishments.

They have long closed the thresholds
And embellished me on pedestals,
The porticos were festooned with insidious ornaments
Of carnal desires, of impeccable timing and naked bodies
That are rigidly carousing in the frailty of my dispositions
Cajole me, great cajoler, I’ve not had any lust to vie -
Stifle me like the wind that garrotes the slumbering children
Of the polarities that disengage into transatlantic omissions
Pulling close just to splinter – my blunted tongue
Speaks, sings, blares and wanes a 10: 19 o’clock interpolation
For a blasé muse of a trifle morose arctic foible.

My hands are cusped, chagrined and grotesque chasms
To amass the great cataclysm from the sepulchral aqueducts
Why such tears? Sordid tridents.
The moon is blanched by a tourniquet of hands
Sauntering feet of languor, and tongues that meld into knots.

The rallying cavalcade delves into the deep waters
Of a pernickety god.
There is a charade of painstaking beauty by the lingering
Phantasms of the city buoy that were gorged
By lost vespers.
There is no treaty here, no resignation.
Only a lambasting – I am not alone.
I am accompanied by a milieu of thorns by my side.
There is no coup de grace, only a foolhardy rupture
To let ripples of blood clothe one with a dismal crimson taint.
In small, death-like tête-à-têtes in between effervescent pilgrims,
I alone, screamed of wuthering dissonances in front of a mirror.
Not a finite act of insurgence, of infidelity, nor treason.
Just a mere mawkish torment and lamentation
Such labyrinthine words of quelled sighs – an interpolation.


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Poem Submitted: Wednesday, December 7, 2011



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