Bones for the People, Fat for the Altar

Of lengthy narratives composed
In formal, regular verses,
No one says they aren’t prestigious,

Albeit often tedious.
But they need to be sacrificed
Properly for greatest success,

The bones of the narrative carved
Cleanly away to serve as stock,
The choicest cuts of verse preserved

For the priests of literature
To offer the gods and consume
For their own ritual pleasures.

If the stories and characters
Aren’t cut away to circulate
In polished form, without the verse,

Then, however fine the language,
However tasty, quotable,
The whole beast will end up buried.