Too lazy to strum, too poor to drum, so eighteen years of words have become my instrument. Though not with chords my "songs" can record, still, they've a beat, and can slice like a sword: my instrument. Meter and rhyme, whimsical chime, structured or "free verse" thought the latter is CRIME, my instrument. Love and contempt, nothing's exempt, write about order or all things unkempt, my instrument.