Literary Personality

If one could be read as one reads a book,
Then surely her person produces that like "War and Peace,"
And she is of the finest of literature.

You can't judge her cover for it varies,
It buries, concealing her inwards.
To turn her pages is to cycle through infinite paper;
This book as no endin';
There's no point spendin' eternity looking for it.
You can't summarize, paraphrase, or skim through this.

So I read end to no end;
Every page, passage, and complex sentence
so intricately written,
She has me; Nothing else matters, there's no intermission
'cause her plot is this pleasantly mysterious entity in several quiet forms.

Her dialogue foreshadows forthcoming events;
My chest warms, my interest reaches new lengths,
But for sure: I feel my heart melt from the sound of her dialect`

She spreads streams of consciousness to dreamy tributaries,
I'm seduced by her alliterative song she's got me something kinda high
Seein' purple, pink, and green canaries;
It's like taking a drug, except nothing's wrong; it's not against the law.

I don't even like to read,
But for her my eyes are bleedin',
watering, swelled with intrigue,
since her slant rhyme pays heed to no one's reason.
To edit her verse is the highest lyrical treason.
To change her vocab: a superb injustice.
The thesaurus is based on her ‘cause normal poets can't touch this…

Beauty of syntax;
language's grace;
a textual perfection;
the poet's birthplace.

Not deserving,
merely fortunate am I to look upon her face,

Not to impose,
but I beg the queen, spill ink upon the pauper's page.


©Brandon Baker, 2010