Praise Sonnet for Sam Abrams

Sam Abrams, Sam Abrams the song is on your head

Like a bullet for a hat, an irreplaceable book screen

There is no one in your DEA jacket, and the police at the door

There is a wonderment though you are stepping through

By the bullshit of your tie and spittled joint

I will be a poet like you, if you don’t mind

When you performed as Rimbaud at the Nuyorican

I knew there was a heaven and we were living it

Still, in spite of you, things go wrong

That’s the purpose, Boss, of song as lid

The tightness of your drama has us in stitches

Datgummit! Rochester is snoring again, tra la

Sam Abrams, Sam Abrams, your unassuming wisdom

A course of poetry and politics that informs the Earth