drivel me this…

 we're so unlike,
 we could be twins,
 which does not even
 make much sins,
 but that's just how
 we roll 'round here:
 shoot from the hip,
 then pop

 a beer
 let us look deeply
 into our own blindness,
 examining deeply
 everything we can't see;
 for the sources of our
 problems are many, but
 we remain convinced,
 none of them

 are us
 people who know me, know
 that i'm a crashing bore;
 i prate on endlessly --
 i'm not quite sure what for --

 i cure insomnia, i think,
 with sentences prolific:
 and i know some can soothe with words,
 but mine are

 soporific
 they all called him a monster,
 for having scales and spikes;
 then went back to their safety zones
 of pages, views, and likes

 but he was not a monster --
 he was in fact, refined --
 but words can be most harmful
 when they are least

 defined

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6 Thoughts to “drivel me this…

  1. To the voice of this poem, it indeed has a soothing effect. I wanted to challenge it for a drivel, but lets not get super excited. And lovely art, (mathematical) scales, and spikes.

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