Box Full of Strangers

all treasure chests
left unearthed

become crusted and rusted
shut
full of sand and dust
busted locks
left yoked
in antiquity.

Paper curls, dyes fade
and edges blur
until time passes
seeing requires glasses
memory cracks
like a luxury car
without its chassis
dementia sets in
absenstia dominates
with gin and
perceived golden
ages gilded
in lost responsibility
self-pity
false piety
grand gaiety
for the queen without
a crown
broken down graceless
aging faces
relative to nothing
nothing that means
something that you used
to be; before clouds gathered
black death cumulonimbus
somnabulistic curtain calls
never famous just sadness
aiming for the stars
breaking up without witness in
the evenings atmosphere

and you take the paper,
the films, super 8 cells
not real just another
part of your hoard
another part of the tomb
built of cardboard
hidden away in unlabeled rooms
to be made quiet
undying, life in
full spectrum to ultraviolet
photos of an older life
glamorous clothes and the
promise of the American Dream
"let them eat cake!"
spoiled and spattered out
just another dead guy
floating in the lake
some loose documentation
but otherwise not remarkable
a brief history of the not really familiar
the damned, also-rans, men holding fish
and women holding fans
locked away with the rest of my life
we were jumbled up
in a crumbling box full of strangers
to be put out of the way
and forgotten...