PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

These locks are all rust and fear and disbelief. Beauty gives no relief.

Walking shapes made of keys and unassuming little bits of earthen pottery and money frills and tiny white little pills, perched on windowsills and sitting at wooden coffee shop tables, reading books of fantasies and modern fables, knitting mittens and hats.
The vista gives me a heart attack.

I see them make their exits and their entrances, making inferences and forming sentences, trying not to be too early or too late, not succeeding every time and sometimes succumbing to their fate, these shapes always change, they find something accepted or something that’s strange and they make a dash, sometimes on credit, sometimes cash.
All that flash.

It’s in the pan now, but what if it was for real and these intricate impossible forms resembling postmodern porno culture’s illegitimate children could actually feel and describe that feeling for somebody writing a book, wouldn’t it be worth it to come back from this apocalyptic dreamland and have a more than a look?

I could try a few keys, but maybe it’s the hum of the drier or the caffeine or the reefer, that’s making me nervous. Beauty gives no relief.