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BIRTH

One horrible night,
Dickensian madness swept
into the station.

A lone traveller,
encumbered with two casings,
steps down. Looks around,

with a tube in hand,
and departs for a taxi.
A black one, a beast.

There is nothing left
wishing for, on a close night
in deepest Shropshire.

Invisible hands
play puppet master. Alone,
it must face the world.

The taxi pulls in,
and a grey lady arrives
to cradle the tube.

Inside is an orb
and the protofeeblesquare.
She's salivating.

Hooked up to machines -
So much pain on these machines!! -
The feeblesquare grows.

This is the end, here,
and the world isn't ready.
But nobody knows.


UNLEASHING

A dangerous task,
unleashing the feeblesquare.
(Watch your fingers, Sam!!)

It gnashes its teeth,
impatient to be summoned.
(You know what it wants!!)

The key fits the lock,
and the bolt drops with a thud.
(Human paella!!)

A tentative prod,
disloges the caging frame.
(Bloodbath in Paris!!)

The feeblesquare waits,
biding its time... feverish...
(Gestating fury!!)...

Then... launches forth!!
Off blasts the door!! The hinges!!
(You've done it now, Sam!!)

He looks hurt and torn.
His face is across the room.
(Feeblesquare smitings!!)

The blood flows like wine,
as the feeblesquare flees. (And
a new terror dawns).


INTERLUDE

Sam twitches. It's dark.
And quiet. In fact, it's almost
as if all were well.

There's nothing left here.
They say feeblesquares are hot
from the depths of hell.

Sam's face is left clawed
into smiles - empty smilings
that no-one will see.

The escapee runs,
endlessly, the world's shaking.
the feeblesquare's free.


SLAUGHTER

Goodbye to London,
Berlin and Vladivostock!!
You too, Panama!!

That's it for Cuba,
for Chile and Zambia.
Chad didn't make it!!

Iceland and Sweden,
Finland and Denmark, all gone!!
Angry feeblesquare!!

The oceans turn red,
as the bloods of the masses
return to the earth.

What's left in the world?
Only one place - it is Norway,
cold and relentless.


DEATH

Through the arctic squall...
Look!! Here comes the feeblesquare
limping through the snow.

Its future is bleak.
Soon it will have nothing left,
But years of neglect.

The feeblesquare moans,
Trails a gimpy, fuzzing knee,
and staggers onwards.

The pub is empty,
save for a lone grey figure.
Watching from the bar,

boring deep holes through
the eyes of the feeblesquare.
It is not welcome.

The bartender scowls,
gets up, forces it outside.
Breaks its walking stick.

Kicked to the curb, the
feeblesquare lies deathly still.
Gently the snow piles.

For now, it shall wait,
hoping for a saviour,
a light from the gloom.

Time drops from the sky.
Desperation grows and grows.
The snow is warming.

Erased white canvas.
Earth corrects the mistakes and
the feeblesquare fades.

A passer by stops,
briefly stares... and then goes in
for refreshing ale.