When terror lifts its head
some people wolf their food
hunched over their meat
weight on the balls of their feet
ready to leap.
The spiritually starving
scarf down anything,
force down carrion and call it wisdom
drink from a poisoned spring,
something Satan counts on.
Prophets, poets, and
the occasional pope,
relax and chew on
the Word that answers the question,
“Who am I that you care for me?” Your engagement with these poems feeds me. Thank you.
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