Safe Place
The large iron safe
has an old-fashioned locking system,
levers need to be pulled,
dials twisted, knobs turned
back and forth.
It is a closet, a room
to enter and lock behind you.
It is taller than a bent head,
yet its sides
are miles wide.
In a dream hotel
I have sequestered myself
for safe-keeping.
I have left my pants
laid out neatly on a bed,
shoes stuffed with newspaper
gagged upon a creaking floor.
Here inside the thick iron door
of this lock-up,
I can sleep in isolation,
until time crows
within my secluded heart,
then my body
once more is offered up
to be bolted upon the cross
of humanity.
© 12 mins ago
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
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