Just Beyond Certain of That

The world of ideology is flat
In that, as on two-dimensional maps,

A point that seems far out from the center
Neighbors points farther out, up to the edge,

Which does not abut the opposite edge—
A flat world doesn’t wrap around like that.

There’s always someone who claims the extremes
Have something in common, may even join,

But the inhabitants of the edges
Are having none of that. Their world is flat,

With always someone further out than them,
Until there’s simply none, no more, no one,

And why is it so hard to wrap your head,
Your globular, circling thoughts around that?

Things come to an end, which is or isn’t
As far out or as near as you think it—

Ideology could be infinite,
Horizons past extremes you’ll never know—

But whoever lies to the wild past you
You’re sure’s not your opposite coming back.