The Critic
I am not a man who loves superficially
When I eat a poem
I peel it skinless with my teeth
Bite and suck the juicy pulp
Lick the seed white before planting it again
I am the lion eating its meat
Don't ask me to gloat on dross
To secure the favor of popularity
Poetry is a sacred gift
Upon my altar it is a sacrifice of totality.
Melt, melt, melt into it
Ice into the ocean blue
Light into sky
Love into you
And let us sip and feast on words together.
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