ars poetica

A
candle
amplifi
er in
an
empty

room leaves shadows, initiates gaps, a darkness lurks in corners. Put a mirror, fitting strangely, put up a clue strangely, strangely clustered glass, piling up optic until all sides blaze, the one inch flame now a huge deviant light: the pacific room shines in the illusion of blaze. By just a candle, inhibit the chaos sea. Each glass echo is a word,   illuminates   off shadow. Alive, this author room, this fun biopic indication of space, of spacing, of the celestial geometry of light disseminates, rebounding endless echoes, grows to depict heat until there is no room left, no beatific candles, no walls. Left is a fragment of the holder’s glass, still burning, long after the spilt wax has disappeared   into   the  cold.