door

(this is a really, really old poem i found in a pile of papers while cleaning out my closet. i kind of wanted to trash it, but you should never throw away anything you write, and then i realized it had some slant rhymes and wasn't that terrible. so i figured i'd just post it and then ditch the paper. and now this preamble is longer than the poem.)

open on command
locks mean nothing
to battering rams
of words
sit and stare outside
windows are fake
teasing with truth
(with life)
it is only through doors
that we live