Ode to Sander Cohen
By Mackenzie Childers
Our muses must be one in the same,
For mine continues to be fickle,
As I try to write these words.
Yet they merely flit by me like moths,
Beautifully luminescent in the dark.
Unlike those ugly insects, The Doubters,
Tricking themselves to believe they are glorious.
By fouling your lovely name,
Those Doubters could never outshine you,
For they are clouded by envy.
Yet, I envy you as well.
Most of all your well earned confidence.
But there are many things I could list,
That twist my heart in awe.
Oh, Sander Cohen.
I could write how your voice seduces the ear,
And Inspires even the dullest minds.
I could speak about your visions,
Masterpieces of thought and plaster.
I could even mention your sense of style,
The fact that you are a snappy dresser.
Now, Sander Cohen
Your artistic method may be slightly creepy,
But that's what makes you interesting.
The Doubters may call you immoral,
As they try to drag your down.
But don't worry, I still understand you.
And you can do whatever you want.
Because you sir, are
Sander Fucking Cohen.