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.
