Kerouac Rules for Spontaneous Prose #19

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19. Accept loss forever

Keys. Goddamned lost my keys. Everything in those keys. Stability, freedom, tranquillity, worldly wealth, the words on my papers that tell me who I am–what I am–who I will be at some point if I live that long—or who will get what if I do not. I reach in to my childhood for St. Anthony to come and search for those keys—to let me in the house—to help me let the dogs out—to let me use the bathroom—to sleep.

Keys are beautiful—dangled, distracting my crying baby boy–Tinkling in summer wind through art room window at college—keys dangling from the wood beam, holding within them locked away memories in long ago houses from some time that was but will never be again. Forgotten rooms, elapsed moments, long ago lust, hidden away Spector in stasis–precious things– keys all rusting away in some man’s utility drawer; expendable like so many disremembered names of those that faded away when pain expired.

I stand accused of not being bothered because I cannot access my mail– those All important missives laden with requirements that sit just within the locked door. I lost my keys.

The locksmith will come anyway.

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About A. E. Wallace aka [EL] Selkie

Ann Wallace holds a degree from the University of Texas at El Paso in Mass Communications and minored in Creative Writing. She worked at the NBC Affiliate Newschannel9 in El Paso, was a journalist for the El Paso Diocese Catholic Newspaper, held writing workshops with The Tumblewords Project, performed as a Slam Poet and published poetry in small literary magazines. She is now an ex-pat in the UK where she lives, knits, games, works and writes. View all posts by A. E. Wallace aka [EL] Selkie

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