Frank Marshall Davis

I
Eagerly
Like a woman hurrying to her lover
Night comes to the room of the world
And lies, yielding and content

(Sonata for an Orchestra) Chicago is an overgrown woman
wearing her skyscrapers

I would be
A painter with words
Creating sharp portraits
On the wide canvas of your mind
Images of those things
Shaped through my eyes
That interest me;
But being a Tenth American