Sunday, 29 January 2017

My friend Jack...

My friend Jack

These days I take my poetry neat
or over ice, it depends on the beat
of my heart or the drum, the pulse in my thumb,
but as neat as I can take
despite my intake.
Honestly, there's nothing to beat honesty
but give me a stick
and I'll spew out enough sentimentality 
to make you feel sick.
It's not a trick you see.
I'm a rhymer.
An old fashioned old timer,
my hands not turning
like they really oughta.
And in my heart a hole as big as an opera
by Verdi or Wagner,
even Francis Ford Coppola.
I'm gonna make me an offer I can't refuse.
Friend, you should always underestimate my virtues.
And when it comes to friendship
I've paid all of my duty dues.
So, fuck it if I speak the trues
when I say I take my poetry neat,
see myself as I am,
not a shit coated treat,
not a damn scam of a sham, 
a sweet salty peanuty man.
And if you don't like it or get it, so what?
I jack-shit you not when I say
I really love Jack,
he’s the best friend I've got. 

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