Skeleton Keys Kept

A porcelain jar of skeleton keys

go to nothing,

lost their use in time.

Dusty jar

cracked

on the dresser.

Reminds of hatred like keys

unlocking nothing of use,

spreading rusty words.

Leaving a taste on tongue

of metallic opposition:

you and your orange ash.

Ignorance keeps old keys

no longer relevant,

but recycled into the dusty jar

cracked

on the dresser.

The rust continues on,

spreads

metallic ignorance

from your mouth

so used to the taste.

The Art Form of Envy

The red sun rakes the grass,

caressing the metal holding the hefty

tabletop desk,

where he vigorously scribbles his visions

on the paper, bowing and stretching

to the breeze,

held down by his left,

pictures etched with his right.

Lead whiskers coordinated on the page,

his hand blends shapes in the page,

morphed from ideas in his mind.

He is occasionally mindful

of the vast meadows

surrounding him,

preserving him and his

flavor of the arts.

Sitting in my small black box,

this pinhole camera reflects

his perfections on the wall

like filming April Fools

onto my forehand.

I try and fail

to imitate his art

like an ape imitating

human lifestyle.

I am trapped

in the zookeeper’s cage.