Testimony of a Door

Poetry

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Look at me, my

Frankenstein of a body,

genesis of Mahogany

limbs. Notice this skin,

faded casualty

of sunlight, rain,

passing age.

I’m positioned

at the onset of incident,

like battering rams

serving no-knock warrants or

fists demanding entry.

Consider me a sentry

armed with cognizance

of things concealed

behind my back, 

how closed rooms,

offices and residences deceive.

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