Burnout

It is too much:
colors, sounds, dizzy spinning and colliding
details on details.
In a single breath,
in one tiny picture corner
touching surface only I see I hear I smell
splashing water drops
on windblown grass
motorcycle growl layered
on new black pavement, yellow-dashed,
smells of tar and hot rain
and over, bird songs hover.

But in the next instant,
more and more and more,
and there are words for all--
words and words and words
daggers cutting into my brain and out
spilling and slicing
filling and dicing
I hurt, I bleed, I drown.

Put me in a box:
not black,
not white,
put me in a beige box--
not square!
Put me in a silent, beige, not-square box
filled with nothing to notice
until all sights
until all sounds
until all words drain out
and I am left:
empty.