The Finding Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Surfeit or scant
That is not a question
But sometimes
Under the mad rain
Or in front of a
Pungent drink
I quiver
And hurt inside
My own skin -
I am troubled
By a morbid terror.

I think about this drink
And the aftermath:
A bar-brawl
An alley death
Lifeless, with my heart
Poking out of my
Button-down shirt.

And I think about
The rain upon
My infinitesimal bliss:
What if the streets
Drown?
What if the rain
Extinguishes the Sun?
Where am I
To go in this obsolete
Thoroughfare?

And you, inamorata
As you lay there
Silent on my couch
As I lose myself
In front of the
Machinery:
I wonder,
What if tomorrow
You forget me
Like a rose that
Has died - whittling
Away into oblivion?
What if you
Feign a love
Tomorrow?
Where am I to go
In the dank streets?
What if I lose
Myself as you
Find yours?