The asssignment this week - take one word, and chop finely into constituent letters. Sprinkle lightly with garlic salt and leave to simmer. Serve with a side garnish of brains. To show you how easy this recipe is, here's one I made earlier -
God is doG spelt backwards,
which I find unsatisfactory.
I know it takes a certain
empty-headed sort of person
to see this mild discovery as
a shaking revelation,
hidden within "within"
we find a little crown of letters,
two eyes nesting "t" and "h" -
that hurries the harried
traveller home; the hen
who broods between the sentinels,
To continue the metaphor, her name would be "th".
God has a certain plainness;
the "o" rolls down and off the d, breaking up
the backwards "B"
that would have been, inverted.
In this way you split
Great Britain, backwards.
"Britain", that's a noble word:
who crashed on the rocks of her water home,
dashed and rearranged in cataracts. She lost
"n" "a" - so Britain is Britannia, regal, grand and damp,
except for those parts which are Not Applicable.
Delete as you feel appropriate -
though I doubt she would appreciate another flood.
It rains most always.
God is insufficient -
I've heard it said (and often)
that "God is Dead",
but it's not within the word, no forgone conclusion.
The idea is assailable –
the word is God.
I you beseech.
Change your name by deed poll,