marines are subs
submarines
castes in the past
groups of tradesmen
sinking floors
locked behind scratched plastic
public eyes
eyes that need to feel real
not as a child walking the hallways
a school ticket
the lunch line with a meal ticket
against a hip pocket
skin is touching skin
unhidden, exposed for the realness
forsaking the comfort of a joined reality
hands that touch door knockers
guild ed, angled
but not from guilds
guide our way threw empty hallways
the last one to be picked up
we sink like marines
sees that hope light
principles, bulldogs and mastiffs
to retake the polished dollar
TIGERGROVE 