If only I could do more,
With this infinite cold rage.
Converted to fuel,
Via alchemy.
Sluiced through empirical methods,
Of my true god science.
Bottling wouldn’t do.
Implosion would be imminent.
As a decade ago:
Enough rage to power infinite lightbulbs,
Honeycombs of neon signery.
Craving release.
Cold Rage.
