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Sep 2015
herein lies common fault - loosely hanging on a speculative conjecture
     than exact detail.

mind's prison- asylum.
you go in to see furtive showcases
of the many names walking without
faces. you went in without invitation. only or abstract solicitation.

there is something that sinks
deeper than marrow, blows colder than December winnow, something that burgeons beyond naked sense.

inside this lair,
conflated you are with bent question marks to their distinct, curved smallnesses. you peek into the window of my eyes and inside this airless vault, we are both
heavy with staring at each other
dripping and bare-all, yet
this rigmarole of eyes contain
their visceral silences still.

i stripped them all of their voices
and they only look at each other
with onerous eyes, pondering
about their places, answerless
and just whirling in capacitous space --
Windsor I Guadalupe Jr
Written by
Windsor I Guadalupe Jr  Bulacan
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