Jet Black / 1 Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

Maybe coats and ties inspire me,
I feel almost invulnerable,
Inside a jet black feel

The feeling is overwhelmingly surreal
When I wear a suit,
Anything’s possible,
Like, if squalor is your closest friend

Then I and my suit, fiend of fiends
The clouds, two thirds shy from my darkness
I beset the rain, right before the preset dawn
My heels clicked as I walked on the surface
A man in a suit, will never be disgraced upon faces

I am not as eloquent as a king
That has been passed on through tongues
And books that beget distrust
I do not lust for clarity in this black suit

The finite skyline, almost the epitome
Of the enigmatic man sitting past night trains
The midnight hued suit lost in the woods
Like thieves running away from accurate punishment

I am jet black, jet black I am
The ante-median springs forth propping up
The insatiable beast, the gory feast
In his prowess, in his contented jet black suit.

The post-median withers, like a petal
Like petal, fatality wreaks amidst the seams of the slacks
And the leather shoes, like wolves, hungry as the desire
Astonishing ante-median, post-median abhorred

Jet black, jet black.
I have a black heart.
Jet black, jet black.
What fuels this night, fuels the evil.