PERFECTION IN ACTION // Operation Vexillology

“Blue is sky and yellow is wheat!”

“Nope! Yellow is sun! Blue is water!”

They glared each other down from opposite ends of the table, ready to fight. Of course, they’d need a running start—the table was so long it crossed three international time zones.

Ready, steady, GO!

Somewhere at the epicentre of that domestic warzone they suddenly noticed something. It was Putin entering the room.

When they finally left said room, they were kicking something around that looked suspiciously like somebody’s very tiny balls. And they were no longer incensed by one another’s stance on the flag debate.

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casus belli bum

yesterday there was a ruckus
in the tailless monkeys’ workshop
they were apes by any other name
but their bare rumps exposed them to shame

so the monkeys began a feverish search
for those to whom they could pin the blame
the cognitive dissonance
was strong in these monkeys’ minds
and they issued a press release
to call out the suspected beakless geese
who must have plucked the monkeys’ tails
to cover up their revealed mouth crease

then the monkeys went from words to deeds
constructed a bunch of bent clay dicks
strapped them to each startled face
of the entire beakless geese race
then the monkeys took photos of them all
and uploaded the images to myspace

happy that justice had finally prevailed
the monkeys hit the pub to celebrate
but also forgot that they’d left the kiln on
so the workshop blew high like it’d been bombed

and now the bare bum monkeys are bankrupt
with no workshop, and as for the geese? well…
…they now paint clay dicks to look like putin
and sell them off as souvenirs to ‘unfriendly countries’

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the fallout

when finally the winter’s regime
hugged with a gentle vise
once the hectic mainstream
got locked in a stasis of ice

a roar swelled from slander
antheming to sacred shit
both turned into frozen meander
adorned with a bilious split

prickly slush wrapped up tighter
rhetoric and gagged criticism
like a pearl torn from the peak of a mitre
the globe rolled down a glaring schism

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GUEST POST // The Kids Must Grow Up by Cassy Single

No one should ever hear
the sky cracking open with bombs.
No one should live in fear
of what tomorrow will bring.
We think we are evolved.
We have leaders
that should serve the will
of the people.
The people say no.
All it takes is one man
to build enough power around him,
that this one man
holds a people
to ransom.
Politics is dominated
by children in a schoolyard,
small men
whose dreams shape our very lives.
The whole world must say no,
must stand together.
Peace must prevail.
Glory to Ukraine!

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seeds for your pocket

o demon face
may you reach the end of yourself
so that you will know
you will know that no one had to die

your lies have led to a thousand blooms
set alight in the silence
your crimes have made them feel too much
everything and nothing

the bodies you’ve threshed underfoot
are the seeds you’ve sown of your destruction
their scarlet heads now reach and sway
freedom cries scattered to the wind

and the wind remove all trace of you
hie thee into damnable night
your brutal answers went unquestioned
now circling back to haunt you

o barrel chest
may you reach the end of your hollow self
you know that none had to die
you fucking know

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