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.