And if you find that crass, my dear, you best stop reading quick
I want to Ezra Pound you. You make my Oscar Wilde
You'll be be E. E. Cumming like a wildebeest with child
It won't be Swift, instead, Thoreau
I'll Pynchon every part, and so
When long at last your heart is won
There sure will be some Dicken,son
-Sam
