we have different subjects that we can talk about
and ones we step over like they're dogshit
everyone can sniff them out - you turn your noses up
against the perceived shift of parallel lines
towards something less honest

we used to keep notebooks
our shorthand oblivion of thoughts
cramped into a space of observation
and we shared with those
who would pause for a second to listen

but now we are sat here with no audience
except the shadow boxer painting the wall
and the echoplex of yes men
resounding back at you
quotation mark clipped; cliche dipped

i might kneel next to a gloryhole
and whisper into another's stall
or strike a conversation up on a bus
but in the library i am quiet
in other place i consider being considerate

i don't want to be a t-shirt slogan
i am not a button badge to be pushed
i am not a tourist guide neon sign
i am a desire line pushing in
threaded through weeds in an overgrown lot