"critic" [1998.????.????]

don't lecture me about perfection,
'cause i know where you've been.

as the mages tear
their weary arms out
in a frenzy of passion,

    they bleed a cloudburst

        of cobalt fugues,
        of booming flavours,
        of sweet hues,

    you cover your holes
    in naked tarps

        of indifference,
        of feigned ennui,
    of pretense.

i wonder-

    if i ground your eyes
        to paint my sky,

    if i beat a crescendo
        on your bleeding ears,

    if i made an entree
        of your severed tongue,

                would you still see fit
                    to criticize?