Smoke, No Flame
I want it to hit me like glass
in the face;
I want to hear it shatter and splinter my skin
with abnormal quantities of desperately
as they draw blood.
Oh I want to feel torn,
and yet high as a bird.
I don’t want to feel at all;
where’s the Novacane to set my teeth on edge
and numb my heart
from ravenous vaccines,
deeper than the needles already
probing my stomach?
My gums are afright with shards of whatever
hit my lungs. This
is what destroys the gross excess of canvas life,
is nothing at all.
I want it to hit me hard,
and I want to feel like a ghost.