The Capitulation of King Stomach

Slave stomach said to the
rest of the body “I am King!”

and the general populace of the
body acquiesced worried lest

its bond with the world be
broken without stomach holding

a sovereign position over the
rest of its territories limbs thoughts

dreams desires ambitions successes
at least in this world if not in the

So King Stomach sat on a huge corpuscle
throne counting calories and

balancing proteins and carbohydrates like
so many vassals made to

till King Stomach’s fields and bring in
his bounteous harvests

Soon the body’s bond was tighter than
ever with the things of this

world and King Stomach began to
lust after ever greater power

taking over traditional villages and cities with
tacky McDonalds and pre-fab Pizza Huts

everywhere on this good green earth making people
once so sensitive now somewhat fat and lazy

Then one day outside the palace
a procession with an army of angels preceding it

came to the gates asking for an
audience with the king

The angelic army on camels beneficently benign
protecting a palanquin of purest mist

that shielded a greater monarch asking for entrance to the
body’s domain

Queen Ramadan come to request a single favor by the
light of the glowing sliver of the new moon

King Stomach looked out his high turreted window
and quailed in his ten gallon gastronomical boots

for coming to see him was a
reflected radiance so intense it could

dissolve resistance with a
single glance

weakening King Stomach’s hold and
replacing it with a still tasty but less

obsessively bottled-up appetite

The palanquin of mist entered as if swallowing and
Queen Ramadan in all her invisible regalia

faced King Stomach with a moon face of
unutterable beauty

eyelids of bougainvillea landscapes
cheeks of exotic Samarkand roses

lips of Granadan pomegranates with
highlights of oranges from Seville

aromas even greater than the palace
kitchen on feast days and a

delicate embrace the king felt surrounding his
gargantuan but now vulnerable dimensions

He could feel his conquered lands
shrinking before his eyes and the

bondage of multitudes lifting as
Queen Ramadan asked for only

one month a year to maintain her Spartan dominion
which King Stomach falling under her spell

granted in spite of his initial and once deeply
entrenched reluctance

and with his decree now made into law

the whole body prospered to the
utmost extent of its thoughts and limbs

and spiritual latitudes unfolded in
lotus level after glorious level and chrysanthemum

cloud after resplendent cloud and
vegetable step after deep earthly step toward the

high trumpet blasts of a
greater and more delicious

interior Garden of Delights than even
King Stomach in all his

tyrannical pomp
could ever possibly

envision

8/17/11 17 Ramadan (from Ramadan is Burnished Sunlight)

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