Listen. We can talk here,
this republic in your empire of intention.
Know when you step out of this door again
corridors will take you
as if they knew the way and could explain.
But the unending rhetoric of transit
returns to the cubicle. NO, this upright casket
where you sit like the soul of the wall
or buried Vestal
in the aloneness of your life, that lustre on tiles no graffiti confides.