Shapeshift Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

I vandalized the inveigling walls,
And the shrewd lacerations,
The fissures upon skin.

I glanced at the vestal sky,
Two gyratory birds prying amid the
Frail horizon that seeps through the aperture.

Clenched fists trying to amalgamate
Fury and a deluded form of heaven that scintillates.
Let me tell you something, dear fellow.

I’ve had not much struggles
In this labyrinth.

From distances that scrape
The streets,
To a saudade that never ceases
I will tell you now

That in this point of nothingness,
The forlorn shadows delve into the deep
Waters of this shabby line.

There’s nothing left but to vie
For another auburn-tainted splendor
That hides the filth of the ebullient azure.

Mutilated
As this fray wagers everything
That I have.
The melee will never cease
In this flabbergasted pandemonium
I transcend with the sea crystal’s desertion.

One thing I have learned,
As if plucked from a garden of erudition
Is that
There is a skirmish that never sojourns
Only ebbs
And exacerbates.
Imminent collapse sends the salutations.

The anguish shapeshifts.
The angst changes its form,
Sculpted by the wind,
By the tormenting fires of desolation
But never ceases.
It never punctuates itself
For anybody.