Blackout Curtains

There’s a certain guilt
Of narcissism
Derived from a long
Contemplation of
One’s approaching death.

Inevitably,
Many others die
More swiftly in that
Interval, many
With no chance to stall.

Who are you to be
Thinking about death,
Like a guttering
Candle sputtering
Long after midnight,

Surrounded by whole
Candelabras, whole
Chandeliers gone dark?
Who are you to be
Blinking SOS

To the mirror, like
Some vampire device
Left plugged in all night,
While whole skylines fall
Dark as their bomb sites?