Where Are They Now?

Here is the key, the weight
of an anvil.  The door too is heavy
as if every cell of its wood infused
with gravity presses in on itself.

Implosion is a form of escape;
the question is where?

Things that were once free
are locked away.  The more I know,
the tighter I hold;  the stronger
the body, weaker the soul.

But what do I really know
about leaving?  Those who have
gone will never tell.

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