for the gifted

it seems to come so easy

but for we

puny

overshadowed souls

poetry is more akin

to the long

and tedious work

of panning out our gold

hip deep

in what raw alluvia

that may

now and then trickle

more often dribble

or sometimes

surprisingly spew

from our deluded minds

exhaustively fingering

through the sand

and tailings

to only so rarely

come upon

those precious few nuggets

worth their wait

and then

with a bit of cleverness

perhaps

a dash of luck

as well

somehow string them

to a poem

so heed and heave away

my fine-toothed friends

bite off the biggest chews

swallow them whole

until your bellies bloat

keep straining through

whatever secretions

come oozing

squeezing

or spurting out

for bits

of biting truth

and blatant honesty

that just might

say

something worthwhile

about our selves

our sums

and this

god damned brutal

crazy fix

we're in

alluvium [uh-loo-vee-uhm] - noun - plural al·lu·vi·a - Deposit of sand, mud, etc., formed by flowing water.

https://youtu.be/txapREGWHp0