Affect
Who turns feelings on like a kitchen
tap and not gush with the current?
Only a fool would expect them not to
overfill when you throttle the spurt.
It is in those sublime moments… see,
where puddles o’er feel in the garden sink,
Spring is draining fast
into the cloudy whirlpool of the eyes.
Sadness has a way with me.
One summer, a rat fell on a wooden skewer,
I wondered how that happened.
Anger can be handled in different ways,
A boiled rodent, drowned fries.
Overcooked rice.
A background melody reminds me of
children cuddling under cosy covers,
huddled by the fireside. Happiness is,
an overflowing spoon of olive rice
grains tumbling into warm oesophagi
on a winter’s night.
Emotive moods that drift asunder,
tussle with monsoon clouds roaring in.
A grey deluge to wash away the ghoulish
grime with fresh floral soap sinking
deep into rough hands.
Severed human joints stand side by side
in Autumn, trying to cook a decent meal.
Forgiveness is cold-pressed juice
squeezed to its dying breath, the
bitterness and all the pulpy mess.
Who can say if this is real if it is not felt –
A tsunami devours and obliterates, while
tidal waves break and battle before reaching shore.
Between the crest and the break, affect feels its way
into words like surfers find a way to ride
the next thrill, and savour all the damn feels.
