Fluctuating every bit
Like that old, dusty bulb
In the corner of a shed
Or an overused, smelly toilet
Like the schizophrenic
In fleeting clarity
Like momentary hope
In her only child.
Like sunlight passing
Through cloudy skies
Like sobs underneath
An infant’s smiles
Like a river of blood
Dark and rosy in parts
Undulating and flowering
Flowing on
Like that spasm of pain
In love’s embrace
Like opportunity
For a desperate case
Fluctuating every bit
Like that now dying bulb
In the corner of a shed
Or an overused, smelly toilet
