(for Ad van Emmerik)
A poem is an organ of the mouth,
a verse I suck and blow.
It sings from my heart on the wind,
it breathes with my life.
I place my poetry between my lips,
like licking my girlfriend’s breasts.
I smoke it like a cigar
and squeeze the good juice from it.
My poetry is a fire,
it screams blues murders.
I craft it with my gentle fingers
and shout it around the world.
This poem is a drink wet with rhyme,
a harp in a rowdy beer museum.
I am a drunk whose rhymes stagger,
my words are music in your ear.
Keith Armstrong
