Sitting in the Dark.

I'm sitting in the dark waiting for my pupils to adjust, and I feel Alright.

My brain is glowing coals--it is red and distant within the encroaching black. The colors blend to satisfy my mood. In this cave, time is irrelevant. The past's choke-hold is loose, and the future's Full Nelson does not entrap. So I inhale freely and stand upright.

I'm sitting in the dark waiting for my pupils to adjust, and I am Patient.

I see things the normals reject, for the conjurer is in my head this silent eve. The conjurer: the bliss and bane of my body. It animates desire and maximizes the urge of expression. The conjurer's lidless darkness has always suggested...possibility. I eat it for dinner this empty night.

I'm sitting in the dark waiting for my pupils to adjust, and I am Dissatisfied.

The night and I are one, but we now have nothing to say. Mystery has deserted our relationship and all that remains is bleak familiarity. It is a routine that fries our soul in gasoline.

To burn hotly is the aim.