A rough draft

Here's a rough draft of something I'm working on, possibly for this Thursday's slam.

Eat your words.
Eat your words.
This is my advice.
No, this is my demand.
That's what I want
as a poet, a listener, a reader.
Eat your words,
words of strength,
energy and power.
I want a meal, a feast,
a never-ending buffet
of poems that mean something.
Give me poems from your garden,
sweat of your brow,
clean and crisp.
Give me poems
raised with love,
slaughtered by your hands,
the fattened calf of your imagination.
I am the Lord your God,
Don't give me less than your best.
Eat your words!
Eat your words!
Seasoned with sorrow,
cooked with passion.
I've got a new family recipe,
passed down from ages to ages,
just a little something I whipped up.
Little bit of this, little bit of that.
HA! My great grandma said that.
We've been saying that for generations.
I love cooking.
It makes me hot and the sweat
rolls down my face,
drips in my food.
Hot sour salty sweet.
I love to eat
these words.
Been eating words all my life.
What about you?
Can you eat your words?
If you can't stomach them,
why should I?
And I and I want to taste what you got.
Is it poison? Is it rank?
Did you stick your foot in it?
Did you put your life into it?
Are you ready?


OK, like I said, a rough draft. Let me know what you think.