Jesse is a poet. He looks and listens to America, to his aides and even to reporters. Their feelings, their moods, their words flow through his system. His lines come from his soul, and they have swirled around deep down in there, marinated in his special anger and ambition, sometimes for weeks. Then he speaks them into a tape recorder and hears them come back at him. And he tunes them and times them, then lofts them to the misty-eyed worshipers who are swept with him into the clouds.
Mario is a poet too. A man of immigrant parents, soaked in...
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