The Impetus of Creation (or Drivel)

Sorta Sonnet on...drivel

We're talking over coffee of the drivel

the "impetus of creation" as she calls it...

and as she sips her latte, I must smile!

I drag my smoke and comment on her diction.

She tells me in so many words (...and words...)

how if one looks so deeply to a wall

they find the greater purpose of the moon...

but I know if one looks into the pattern

until their eyes are crossed, they're bound to find

the meaning of their feces as applies

religion, reality, rationalization.

My coffee's gotten cold, and she looks peeved:

Can't I see the cosmos at arms' reach?

No, but i see how the heat escapes

the cup while she is being so well bred--

I've always though that steams a damn good dancer.

So to this so called impetus of creation

I say, the begin of beginning begins again

in circles!  Circles chasing for its tail...

and choking back the sick, I get the bill.

Author's Note

This is supposed to be a sonnet but with the iambic pentameter a tad outta wack in a couple of lines. I've worked on it but any help would totally rock because I am at a loss... Hope you like it, anyway. Any comments are greatly appreciated!

Reviews

[TLK]

I don't think I quite see the iambic pentameter.