I Think I'Ve Said Too Much Poem by King Happy

Everywhere it's the same
the talkers talk
until their voices tire
while the dreamers they stay quiet.
The talkers never really seem much for talking,
they just don't want to imagine.
They flee like deer from the airplanes of idea
to a thinkboat that's built for sinking;
where the concepts are made of aluminum,
thin and sheer,
and are about as dense as lead.
They burn right through them
leaving behind scraps of molten metal
for me to recycle,
reforge,
and construct monuments to their stupidity.