ᴁffect

A door tends to swing on its hinges
Grappling for stability,
Partitioning the hard drive of the mind
Into vacancy and occupation
Like a tired soul in Auschwitz
That dreams to be the crumbs he’s fed.

Emotion is hinged and unhinged
Like a door in resistance to an earthquake
Swinging towards the vacancy
Of bread crumbs lined like atoms
And back like a pendulum
Towards a fervorous occupation

It’s swinging and swinging
Like a grandfather clock
Until it has clocked into the obituaries.

(c) 2011