Life in the Early Season

I am too young
to be a poet.

Have you tasted whiskey
over and prior
to barrel?

It's clear
and undrinkable.
Too strong 
for any palate.

There you hear it,
the young poet's 
harsh music.

All cymbals
and thrash
and crashes through glass.

But without the young poet,
the young liquor,
the vicious music,

the fermentation 
of sentience
of sentence
of sense
of sound

could not begin.