the violent seams
of Polter beam.

disguised in a vanquished fury.

i look up to the absence of love.
a proportionate glow that flickers
an empty me…

and if only i could embrace,
that of a tender mold,
i would surely feel myself.

a dedicated mechanic of melting wax.
liquified within the cracks.

this position alters me
and i writhe in a beam.

shifting seams.

i’m now a gold metallic.