Panacea Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I am besotted
By this highfaluting strain
That not even the rain
Assuaged the tremors
Of the city
Nor the bed that I sleep on.

There is such equanimity in
The stars that I dare try
To reach with these hands of
Malaise;
But no more,
For I have come to my senses
Like the vapor that asphyxiates
The tall, dwindling grass

The moon holds no acquittal
To all of my peccadilloes:
I disturb the pace of the stars
With a flurry of wails.
I flummox the shadows
That gyrate eloquently in all the corners
Of this night of vitriol over
The muse that was lost -
I have died in the hands
Of the winter frost
But then, each snowflake
That holds inimitability
Will forever sigh the fable
Through desiccated gambits
And limp preambles.

I let the moon hum my elegy
And I even let the stars
Remain in the skies unfazed.

I can smell the fragrance
Of autumn from a world away.
And so tonight,
I let the voluminously poignant arms
Of the moon carry me
Towards convalescence
With the stars aid me
As we stray far from the malady
Most ardently.

And so to the derelicts,
To the shades that dislimn
One by one
I shall abandon you
For I now hold the charring insignia.
The infinite panacea.