I made u a poem, but I forgotted it....not really

And in the evening to take the pill that shuts the door

on a room of noisy thoughts, a room full of drunks who keep repeating the same phrase
“Man, I just love you guys so much.”
 “I just don’t understand why she had to leave.
I’m a good guy, right?”      
U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.A!

Or the channel of chattering heads who spar with truncheon exclaimations
to out-breathe the insults of the other side.
“You obviously don’t appreciate the seriousness of the situation.”

Or learned men who know so much about one thing they cannot find
their keys, nor tie their shoes, and thus stumble
and trip about in rooms locked from inside.

Sometimes, though, thoughts are beautiful and beg for ink on paper
lest they are set adrift into trackless sea, sometimes already written: a song perhaps.

“It’s another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody, I got some money ‘cause I just got paid”

But the door closes and the little amber bottle says,
No refills remaining.