Friday, September 17, 2010

Sweet Succession

Flat on your back, legs up in the air
(insert inappropriate joke here)
Just a quiet, peaceful lump
Of hardened black and yellow bands
Covered in a halo of pollen

I'd flick your carcass out of the way
If it weren't for the insurmountable effort
That it must have taken for such a small group
Of tireless workers to drag you thus far
As evidenced by the steam of gold

An elephant, a feast, for hundreds of mouths
No chance to fade to dust, you'll be underground
Shredded in no time and turned into sugar
Pure, cane-less sugar, sweet with the taste of death
Pungent with the air of impending doom

Providing all the energy needed for your hyenas
To climb inside the walls and relocate themselves
In my kitchen cabinets, scouting out man-made alternatives
For fuel supplies in the wake of a changing climate
Removing certain links from the food chain

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