I live on top of a hallucination
that is spinning around,
which makes me suffer a malorientation
of the grandest kind.

I have a feeling for rainpools,
there we seek and hide
from the words splashing about.
You are six years behind.

So there should be no
blind spots, but there are.

I twist and turn in a fit of dystopia
as to see your dream of the dreams burn
down is the swan of the swans
in a hollow black insomnia.

So we should be a romance,
but we are not.