What is there left to talk about?
The lines have all been drawn,
and leave us little common ground;
not much to dwell upon.
Why squirm in silence here together,
bound by social whim
to say not what is on our minds,
but delicately skim
around the ugly awful truth:
that you and I will not
agree on art or politics,
on legalizing pot,
on why it is that men and women
fulfill different roles,
what constitutes an act of war,
or what makes up the soul.
Excepting those fine topics,
we can speak on what you wish;
although I'm sure in time we'll find
other taboos to list.
What is there left to talk about?
Why meet here at the fence
pretending that we give a damn?
I'd prefer an honest silence.
08 APR 2006
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