I am not a shape but an ever changing set of lines. The parts of me you wish to tame might be gone tomorrow morning; by then they could be the traits you will be courting.
I’m a circle
then an oval
then a square,
Forever film negatives but the inverse is merely decorative, consecutive comic strips that vary from pane to pane. The stories told them between them are momentary, self contained. The monsters who haunt our heroes can’t maintain a uniform face.
Their contours long impaired from the shifts between darkness and solar flares, dimensions tear, exposing hate in debonair. Suddenly virtue is the threat, harnessed by the wrong hands; I’ll let my demons get away to prevent their genocide.
From the outside in, it
must seem I’m
via Retcon Poet.