POETRY: Circles and Edges

It’s a group nailed tightly together
in rows of wood and paper boxes
each with a single door
that opens in, opens out
like estuaries onto the main stream
of political hallways that run
downriver, carrying their barge
that drags the waters
of concepts and theory.

There is no pause at mossy banks
no inlets unvalidated
by the iceberg that flows
according to whim of the sun
and its generated heat;
no ingress without a ticket
sorted out by color or by style
or by the ticketmaster’s knowledge
of his kin.

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