From time to time, the muse taps my shoulder, and let’s me know that it is time to write a little poem. Sometimes it is a holiday poem, about nature, or even a satire, and sometimes it is about the Golden Man, a character I created a few years ago. Think of him as a social character.
A Golden Man’s Cuisine
The Golden Man forgot his quest,
in pomp and circumstance now, he bathes.
Who are those people under my feet?
Must be the ants, and they don’t eat.
Bring me some wontons, bring me kababs; the ants can starve.
But first, cachapas I must have,
and later, much later, I’ll think of cheese.
Inkspeare 