Hinge

Humanity stashed worth
in a single chamber of flesh
where the soul is hanged on a hinge.

Power trampled the vault
and emptied its illusion of value,
as conscience slipped to the fringe.

And in the cold outskirts of reason,
stories stripped of fabric
revealed bones of bargain toward the coast of binge.

The litany of alibis on the edge of excess
blamed the hour's eclipse
trusting a vaporous veil to absolve desire as it settled into a dinge.

 Every shaken mind, 
swollen with unanswered why,
searched its own chamber for the fault
but found it dangling on a cringe.