If Amy Lowell Had It

Far away
In the third floor back of my skull
I feel a light, airy, prurient, menacing tickling,
Dainty as the pattering toes of nautch girls
On a polished cabaret floor.
Suddenly,
With a crescendo like an approaching express train,
The fury bursts upon me….
My brain explodes.
Pinwheels of violet fire
Whirl and spin before my bloodshot eyes—
Violet, puce, ochre, nacre, euchre…all the other
Colours, 
Including jade, umber and sienna.
My ears ring, my soul reels.
I tingle with agony.
Who invented goldenrod?
I wish I were dead.
Aaaaaaarrrrrrhhhaashoooo!