Shabby Hearts Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

In the carouse
Of death and liquor
The hands of a woman with
A sepulchral lacquer
The heraldry of the intoxicated moon
Sends the Sun in a fickle vassalage,

We’ve had such shabby hearts.

When the muted shadows
Rehearse the speaking parts
And the lungs cave in like gallows
Like a cat mastering the deathly surreal art
Of igniting bones and dislocating them afterwards
The fractured moon, and the dreams of a wayward,

We’ve had such shabby hearts.

Do you believe yourself
In this mad rendezvous
Of cajoles in an enormous vanity
And a cantankerous naivety?
If you do,

You have such a shabby heart.

Traipse through the trellises,
Sprawl like an ivy underneath
The synthetic verve engraved
Unto false skin by the dreadful Sun
Of boorish ridicule
Dine in a banquet of acquiescent fellows
And despise the silver coats
Of mendaciloquence
Yet, in the contrary

We’ve had such shabby hearts.

Hearing the Sun chime at 12: 30 in the morning
Girdled to the bosom of the galaxy
Cushioning the stars, a scintillation that ebbs
Shunning the walls, circumventing the thorns
Of a luckless circumstance

I have a shabby heart.