Locked up and

It’s

Key

Buried  beneath a

Pile of  discarded rubbish.

Hung out to dry for the world to see.

Stranded on a metal wire,

A metal wire lacking any surplus electricity.

Like some wrought-iron

Laundry,

Suspended

& Swaying.

Just beyond the reach of the sun,

Just feet away from

The

Howling mouth of the sea.

Breathing in,

And out,

Taking  the carcasses   of sun-dried starfish

Back with them.

Leaving behind the scraps of sun-dried tomatoes.

At one point such a guarded figure.

At one point avant-garde.

This  ordinarily defensive mechanism.

Now perceived as  nothing but an over sized  earring,

Hanging from the exhausted ear lobe.

Of forgotten towers.

Whose  ancient splinters mimic

The primitive nature of a cactus,

Protecting it’s precious water.

 Or an empty briefcase.

Swinging from the busy arm of

Towering telephone polls,

Who permanently persist here,

With  turned up collars  of blue,

Mimicking the nature of the sky.

Filling in the gaps between the quicksand and

Empty parking lots,

Near  former sites of historical significance,

Waiting

In

Single

File

L I N E S.

Some of these giants

Wear fedoras,

While simultaneously

Flipping quarters,

In accordance

&

Within earshot of

Black and white odds.

Black and white bylaws.

(While no one is looking)

While ostensibly   waiting for different results.

Some  of these giants,

Appearing in the most fashionable  of haircuts,

Obviously not featured in any particular magazine,

Assuredly not  attending any particular gala

Still come adorned  with curls of cable,

Weaved into intricate knots,

Resembling beehives,

Honeycombs resembling catacombs

&

Silver gaskets,

So many silver gaskets.

That shine like rhinestones.

That shine like eyes.

Atop their heads,

That are usually susceptible to exploding in a lightning storms,

Like any good business man should be, anyways.