The Toolbox
Grey metal, lost lustre
Sharp angles with blunt meaning
Tinkle, clunk, staccato mumble
Buried invitation, sent
At random. I pick up
Some straight hard piece
It hides a secret
But what is hiding if not
Showing secretly?
Staring, gaping
Gives no explanation
If you look into the toolbox
The toolbox looks into you.
I am random
Or will do my best to be so.
Symmetry is dead.
And I being undead
Turn from the toolbox
With sinking heart
Imagining the recesses
Filled with life
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