Brass Key

 
This door was
never hung properly
to begin with, so my bedroom
opens to a back stab of wounds
I wade again & again & call it love -
though love would grow astonished
at the comparsion
there is a luminous moon
... inside of me, that quarters itself
in relentless cycles, but shows
itself at some point as full
It takes a lot to swallow a moon
It takes more to own a brass key
and never turn it,
a large, beautiful shine never earning
a moment of the occupation
of the fine destination
it had hoped to employ
never opening, simply loose
on the wooden dresser
Such a waste of good brass
leaves me troubled
So there is the door, and the moon,
and the key, all working away
at the wrong time, in the wrong place,
and oh, poor things, the wrong person,
who stands open handed
and amber eyed
frozen from dedication

Reviews

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

Timing is everything in life and your poem is fascinating on an intellectual level.