Frustration

Thoughts shake
as the vessel
pounds against plaster.

We are each a cluster
of ideas that orbit a dearth.
We plummet
yet feel still, and still

emptiness envelopes,

but we may dive
towards spreading light--

her smile may
brush along
your skin--

and systems spring from orbit
as two unseens
circle, dance,
and collide:

dust parts and cakes
like flour on his face, and veins
dispense their frustration
on the wall and on the floor.

When the next man enters,
a new thought goes 
its own way.