Scathed Child: Ii Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

The plundered land
Enamored to me,
Taking my hand
And vexing my drunken states.
The shadows plummeted to the moon
In a fulminating bloom
Summoning the ushers
Of the shunted complexities.

The hands are crimson-handed,
Gripping the metal bars,
Galvanized with good riddance
And an eclipsing, labyrinthine waxy auroras.
I blunder all along the barren streets
Of my own city
But it’s as if I am a tourist inside the
Shambles of the cavernous structures
Where I rest asylum.

The vacuous night raises its goblet,
Preparing the emancipation from the
Night’s indomitable authorities -
Poised to drink all of me,
They have been plotting this for a long time,
To rendezvous around my shallow alleys,
And leave me there, skewered to the heaven’s
Spiraling tridents of rain, with the cold
Wind piercing through the veiled scrawniness
Of my consciousness in limbo.

Incongruous chains of events
That sing in unison, four of them
In synchronicity.
Love, hope, hatred and angst
In a quartet of corpulent sighs
That sift the flesh from the bone,
In distracting pyrotechnical gyration
I am swoon over by the prolix festivity
But never caressed – the viscera yearns
For what the viscera deserves.