15/01/2016

#poem #poetry #amwriting the histories (after herodotus)

the histories
     after herodotus

and I shall relate what I have heard
from those who have been to that place
and attended to the affairs of retail
with those tribes of dog-faced men
who live upon that northern island

for the sea that divides them from the civilized world
is not wide, and may be forded by a giant at waist height
the division being marked bythe milk white thighs
of a local creation goddess, called Coco, who walked on her hands
the splayed calf and ankles of the fallen woman
have long since formed the mountains and hills
and her buttocks the seat of the amber sea

the inhabitants are fierce
and decorate themself - and their vans -
with a double cross - which lays upon itself
at a half turn - in tricolour parody
for they have no brotherhood
nor feelings of fraternal nature
and all liberty is too confused with license
to have any meaning as we would know
preferring instead the discourse of disharmony
wherein at every turn the fractious shall
lay out their case for rebuttal
in vain hope that reason will find some vague middle
which like a wall built on a stream
leads only to their offspring inheriting
the stumps of the past
and false foundations on which to build
and then everyone there wonders why extremes prosper
and why apollo must wear slippers
so tired is he shuttling between the rival canards

they eat nothing but the offal of beasts
and at times they cross an inland sea
to eat the children of their neighbours
which are boiled with carrots and baked into a pie
yet so cunning are these devils
they name this swift pastry
so that men might be gulled into believing
that this food was caught on the wing
or at other times they call children baby goats
and lick their canine lips

But more than food they love drink
and at a single sitting will often imbibe
two gallons without a single piss
or the slightest hint of intoxication - or so they claim -
indeed so strange is the metabolism of these barbarians
that only when they eat spiced meat and bread - with lettuce -
does the mark of the spirit tap their head
then they call upon their their gods
in sickness or in battle
casting aside all care for their sacred bacchic food

the chief deity of the dog-people
is a goddess who made the ambrosia of summer
this dish curls around  from an eight pointed pipe
atop a crisp sweetened cone
the richest among the tribe - to fatten their children for the pot -
add a stick of brown sugar flavoured pressed essence
and a sauce made of menstrual blood and raspberries

yet those who oppose this goddess
are not so outwardly bestial
and carry the face of the dog upon their stomach
in order to hide their true nature beneath fine branded clothes
they never eat the ambrosia of summer
nor feed their children brown sugar flavoured essence
but give them raisins for a treat and joints of cannabis

all this I have heard
and all this I state to be true