Dispatches from the wilds of Poetania – “Easter”

Springtime rolls ’round once more
the games begin anew
the hunt is on for young and old
the hunted are past due.

The sins of the father
become sins of the son;
with sticky sweets and little treats
they paint the darkness fun.

And so the shadow spreads,
generations wheel by,
a fine tradition marches on,
its victims borne to die.

Call it what they shall,
and deftly place the blame
at the feet of invented gods
the ugly truths remain.

For what it is in spirit
(unacknowleged in name);
the chocolate chicken holocaust
continues without shame.

Dispatches from the wilds of Proseambique – Sexalacunic Story

Physicist discovers “god particle”, disproves god.

Dispatches from the wilds of Poetania – “Reduction”

I survey the tiny city
with grim satisfaction -
its miniature skyscrapers;
neat little blocks
divided by knife-thin streets
criss-crossing
the tiny hemisphere
with delicious precision.
I reach down
and uproot a perfect cube -
it clings desperately,
extending a thousand tiny fibres
too small to make out,
but I imagine conduits and cables,
clinging and snapping
like the tendrils of a vine
as I devour wholesale
these medium-density residential apartments.
Chile may look on hungrily
as I smack my lips
with bitter-sweet satisfaction,
but she will taste not
the sticky delights
of my Mango empire.