The Shut-In

In my room:
two rotary phones,
no dial tones.
All connections are severed.
I have no leverage,
no blackmail, no chainmail,
no links whatsoever.
The rain falls in cold, solid bars outside of my window.
Beside my bed:
a jar full of keys,
of mysteries,
to doors left open or kept shut,
that can't be bribed
from their hinges, or their convictions
about lost loves.