the dark

The crazy bad moods
 we cultivate to justify
our self-obsessions
       allow us all this
 familiar excess.

  When I start up
the walls disappear,
  windows blow
    our brains out with
such vicious clear flatness -
  hallucinating some dense
dimensions to the outside’s romance

What was it I was thinking?
   What you said?      sounds tumble
     like a bottle down steps
        smash into coherent
sentences.  Paranoia
keeps me safe from everything

         that isn’t it.
When we fall into the sun
 finally, there’ll be
  no more darkness.