I used to go to a weekly poetry meeting. I enjoyed going because I loved to read my poems and the feedback I would get. Sometimes listening to the other poets was a little tedious. All the arrogance and presumption that they knew what was right and we needed to hear what they said. There was also a certain sound that was easy to identify after being there a few times. The truth is, though, that I was just like them. We were all trying to talk about something indefinable, this truth, this brilliance that is impossible to describe. So we do our best and sound arrogant and air-headed. Cry with frustration and laugh hysterically. That is what it's all about. The poem is supposed to use all the bad qualities of amateur poets to explain a deeper truth. Let me know how successful I was.
P.S. There is a reference to drug use. I don't encourage or have any personal experience with drug use. I just felt it described that airy-headed feeling I was talking about.
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