Bits
Pieces
Just enough to nibble
Nothing to fill up on
An intellectual comb-over
Knowing just enough to, “wing it”
Meat tucked between thick strands of pasta
Small clumps of meat
Not enough to be considered “meaty” by any means
Still, you can’t go wrong with clumps of Prego
I say if you can’t bring it, wing it
Let them call us “Wingers”
Let us not be ashamed
If they pick passed our brain
We won’t confess
We wing
Not like a hawk
Or an eagle
More like an ostrich
Just “Winging it”
We flap
These wings
Wings flap
Flapping
This crap won’t fly
Still we try
Preferring candle light thoughts above our heads
Fabricated
Refusing to let an incandescent bubble thought shed
Stubborn
Alienated
Pig Headed
What’s the difference?
We know things are thoughts
We adlib our visions
We also feed on smoke and mirrors
Exagerating stories without drinking beers
We can only hope
The wingers we wing - wing the same span
Grazing the surface
Confident and Nervous
Hoping finger tips fondle that spot
That spot where intrigue meets chin
Lying and exaggerating to spit shine our gems (egos)
Smoothing out our unprepared speech
The truth
The cure
The lie
The disease
We try
On the fly
The spur
Pulling clarity out of the blur
Excess words we use to stuff
To overcome a head-scratchier calling our bluff
Getting caught in a lie
We do not dare
Because under this top hat
Hides many hares

Wingman united. Lay it down buddy.