In the Museum

Smithy: the thing the soul is not but still
I pause in front of the box
with the locks and keys. This lock

is heavy-bellied with a rainbow top
and the key a handle with acrobats:
here are their splayed arms
and legs. Here their coronets and
devils’ peaks, while he moves

to the spurs
the five-toothed choice

of the Conquistador
unsheathing his sword
“you don’t want to be
inside my head; no one does –
there’s bad stuff there”

how bad? I want
the details. The details
don’t matter. I don’t want the
details. I want the details…

what the hammer
what the anvil

a relation of facts
how it was, and how it is
Minnesota cowboy.