Saturday, January 20, 2007

The Key

The key is cut by the smith.He holds the key, brings it to your lock.
Shuts the door behind you on your way out. He locks the door, and
you pay him for the service.

Outside the trees are burning. The House is made of Water.
Amber light shines through its windows.

Horse shoes sing before they are nailed to the hoof.

They announce verses of chance through you.

They are worn and pulled away again.

I saw your feet cut straight from your ankles.

Hung the right way up over each doorway.

To keep the luck in.


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