Why I Write, Part x+166: The Poet Is...(Pt. 2)

The poet is a wolf, and thus a predator,
Taking cues, cooperating to take down his prey,
Be it one idea or the whole world.

The poet is a snake, and thus a layabout,

Lounging in the sun until it comes time

For one short, quick strike.

The poet is a worm, and thus slimy,

Eating a slitering-path through Eve's apple,

Tasting every sin in turn.

The poet is a wolverine, and thus a glutton,
Clawing at the language, consuming all he can,
Until he must purge.

The poet is a lodgepole, and thus patient,
Waiting for the muse's searing heat,
Waiting for the burn to release seeds.