In Talking To Old Friends Of Mine

In Talking To Old Friends Of Mine

In talking to old friends of mine

I’m curious of what they drink,

Whether it’s whiskey or it’s wine,

Exacerbates the way they think.

But I know that it’s just not that,

Nor marijuana they may smoke

But it is where their heads are at

Which is befuddling these folk.

It’s not the substance they take in

For their ideas to be turned out

But what is underneath their skin

As it’s all that they think about;

(If you could call it thought at all)

For rather having shut the mind

Down to the smallest of the small

Details—nothing is there to find.