Windsor Guadalupe Jr
It was another slivered porcelain,
The swan dived into the lake of grue
And the sands lined up like sequins
Just beyond the fragmented swan
That pirouetted like a hazy monsoon
Flailing wings, how?
They were clipped, and prepared
To be severed away from the body
The reflections of the moon
Are bombarded with the hymns of the cicadas
In the background’s opus -
An ornate foliage festooned with the dark
A dislimning shade.
I bid farewell,
I reeled too close
For a figure so far
And that is, the account of
Futile travails and a stagnant drudgery.
The rook stands adroitly,
However, this maladroit structure
That causes ships to sink into an ocean
Of mire and sleeping corals,
Has been long taken into a submissive coiling
Of dreams that never recoil
Into its pristine shape.
Wan, wantonly paddling through the air
Like a ballistic drizzle upon the hostile lairs
Of the other creatures that rest asylum
Here in the lake that had an island
As enormous as the swan’s heart.
Heraldry pays no redemption
To flattery and chauvinism -
Among other things, heralding the swan
Is to herald nothing.
To be lost in a labyrinth
With all exits shunned,
All entrances defunct.
I have long been trying
To assuage the clamors of the meridian Moon
Upon the lithe, plush body of the Swan,
An iron maiden
A patron of the cul-de-sac
The dominatrix of shambled fools.
A maudlin effortlessly finagled
Into the swan-like fortresses.
Resignation is an unconscious state.
Swan, go prance.
Swan, go dance.
You’ll have your time.
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