All should be so trustworthy, that locks and keys shall be needless. Needless, useless, pointless, moot: stripped of every honest purpose, nothing so haplessly worthless now, so meaningless. Needless, needless: the deadbolt, the strongbox, the padlock lolling from the tall spiked gate, the little metal teeth all jingle-jangling mindlessly on their rusting ring, the all too obtuse fitfulness of pin and tumbler, every chain known to man. All melted down for scrap: the whole clanking, tinkling, delirious mess spaded into the pitiless furnace for our trusty smiths to put to good use, all that glorious blazing gloop walloped anew into buckles, skillets, wind chimes, wind-up toys, more spades. Needless, worthless, baseless, daft: the locket, the lockbox, the lockers slambanging in the winless locker room, the secret hasp in the desk or the case to trip for the stash, the fireproof safe, the bulletproof vest, the chastity belt, the countless stacks of patents for atomic bombproof vaults kept under lock and key, all gone the way of relics, ruins, fossils, flesh. Useless, useless as useless gets: the dupe under the doormat, the blanks on their hooks, the plink of trinkets (church key, poker chip, bronzed trilobite) from this or that set, the cutting kit's merciless shriek in the back of the shop, the brassy tang on the tongue when wrangling hands free in a breathless rush to slip in or out, the endless cat and mouse of masters and skeletons laid to rest at last. The heartless turnkey, the nerveless safecracker, the latchkey kid scared shitless, the relentlessly dauntless escape artist trussed in shackles and manacles in shot after shot: who among us could even make up stuff so specious, so spurious? No cutpurse to fleece us, no jackboot to roust us, no half-assed excuse to detain us, remand us, debase us, reform us, no iron fist or invisible hand to quash or unleash us, no righteous crusade to destroy us to save us: just us, just us. All of us no longer shiftless, feckless, careless, faithless: no losses to cut, no charges to press, nothing to witness, nothing to confess, no one to cast into the wilderness, no caste to dispossess, no shamefulness, no shamelessness, no cease and desist, no underhandedness under duress, nothing to peer into or peep at with a flickering eyelash, each cloudless passing hour lusting after less and less. Should be, so be it: so trustworthy, so noteworthy, so rock-steady, so truth-hungry, so war-weary, so far from foolhardy, so otherworldly already, no guest or ghost would guess that any of us were ever less than blameless, faultless, spotless, blessed. Needless, useless, pointless, crap: the polygraph, the wire tap, the clink of cuffs, the accordian gate, the ankle bracelet, the honeycombed spy-cams, the blueprints for the deluxe panopticon, all that superfluous refuse shipped off to the pawn shop, the swap meet, the flea mart, the boundless county dump, the bottomless dustbin of clueless things past, all dead as the doornail that held fast against the hopeless crush of us. No senseless wish-fulness, no useless ruthlessness, no goods to get on us to bust or traduce us, no clauses to bind us, no cause for redress, no one on the loose, on the make, on the case, nothing for us to jimmy or pick, nothing gone missing, not a thing amiss, no No Tell Motel, no Big House, no Pale beyond us, no tragic chorus in a rumpus over the worst in us getting the best of us in spite of us, just all of us lapsing less and less regardless how rootless, witless, gutless, pissed, all that thankless cussed nonsense now behind us: just us, just us.