What you should wear in a rocking chair

Standing in the threshold
She trips in with no Grace
Once again that little brass handle
Is given a thoughtless tug

Shrill thanks need not wake me
Yet this this tiny square button
Failing to light
Makes you sigh, shakes the cobwebs from under my eyes

There is nothing tying us together
Only what's tied around my wrist
Only a hospital scare
And the clothes in my room

But in a ten foot box
We're never so alone
I can hear every shuffle
Through oiled gears and thundering silence

But then, these doors eat up the threshold

I should probably stop and sleep
But if this stops I don't think I'll ever sleep