My mind is empty.  

The dust gathers here in
the narrow space
between knowing and feeling,
suffocating
in cramped corridors where
I find my only comfort
thinking about your mouth
and the way it curls up at the corners,
smiling always.  
With fingers numb,
my eyes pulse, a frenetic
beating begging
for an explosion
in my skull:                            
                       please                            
                       stain my brain with the spectrum                            
                       of oil pools on pavement.  

I want
to throw chairs
and break glasses. Let me shatter myself.  

I am pure              
                   kinetic.