We Express through You

She has the strength of Sun Tzu, the wit of Simone, and the

rhythm of Shakespeare. I watch her, portraying the depth

of Whitman. She creates with the sight of Emily, and her reach

is that of Robert Frost. I ask our mystic Blake, shall the heart inflate?

Indeed, she wails the cries of Maya, and features the hurt of Pablo;

for love is warmth, the culture of Langston Hughes. So walk the

beaches. Kick the sands. And read the legends of Homer.

Indeed, sanity is the mind of Ezra, and structure is Angelina

Jolie. Now we wait and feature art, and we die Mary Carr, and

muse Nick Flynn, and ponder Sylvia Plath. Our lunch is

authenticity, and we gnaw upon nouns and verbs. But never

such to love: our width is that of Nietzsche’s. But ever this

wingspan, and ever our sycamore scent. Only Denzel

Washington could act this love; and Angela Bassett feels this

art. I thirst you, and live C.D. Wright; and Trethewey called upon

thunder. So pose a nightmare, and excavate a Robert Greene.