The Artist’s Ale

Amy Rourke


As rare as a pistol in a pear pie
His faith for prose lit his personal fire
Flip flop hate into a lie

In letters and phrases free from ire


A persistent gnat stifled in a field of tar
His fateful ideas sifted like sand into a jar
Possessing talent to err, learning to reign
His hope to separate art from the terrain


Others try to feign his slippery eel insight
As he inspires stars jetting through the night


Euphemism Campus Box 5555 Illinois State University Normal, IL 61790