The Ilitchiad: Book One.

Sauce-spattered Caesar the Small, within his high box,
Surveys the two armies in the field.
The twin-headed Xaponettum, in pleated docks,
Arrays his men with lance, sword and shield.

“Who dare challenge me?” cries Ilitchion’s new giant, Phister.
“I shall!,” cries Justinian the Great. “Lest fatigue or blister,
Which both plague you, strike first, let us take up arms now!”
With this, the battle does commence; sweat flies from brow,
Swords clash, arrows fly. Suddenly, Chyppnus,
Son of Marchus, logograph of Mavros,
Whose fall has been both burden and spur to glory,
Lashes a blow, merely the latest in his story:
Giant Phister reels, and from his watery depths, Poseidon
Rouses. Trident raised over wind-swept locks, his blue eyes widen.

"If men of Cleave laugh, then I shall weep," says the ruler of the murky deep.
"Phister, it is clear, is no Phipher. Let some other God save his life, or
Justinian, poised to win this bout, shall be drowned within this water-spout!”
And the ace of Cleave is forced to fly to the clubhouse, trading wet for dry.

The battle resumes under Nyx’s reign, but she, apprised
Of the water god’s encroach, calls Narcolepsia to dance.
Her charmed gyrations cause all to be hypnotized
Who would otherwise have wielded club, bow or lance.
Then, to Actamemnon, Apate comes,
Nyx’s sly daughter. “To beat these doldrums,
Offer Donalophon, of your Utylites,
To Zeus. You must sacrifice Demeter’s soiled son,
For only earth can counter Zeus’s brother, the God of Seas.
Believe me, it is only thus that this contest shall be won.”

All is deception: Brantium flails. Death’s grin gleams from the dust,
As Actamemnon retrieves his felled Utylite. “He dies,
Slain, Apate, by your words, neither right nor just!”
Swift Demeter, as winged horse, swoops in and pries
Free the corpse, to inter in olive groves
On Mount Helicon, but, vengeful, she first
Replaces Ilitchion’s feed with poppy loaves;
Leylandeus’s men, bewitched, are by this cursed;
Their spears fly wide. Ox-strong Hafules, of the dozen labors,
And Phuchydome, the bold, become winner’s circle neighbors.

Two days more do armies clash. Chyppnus the destroyer earns fame;
Then Erratum and Babbippius, playful twins, do Cleave tame.
Nothing yet resolved, yet all resolute:
Nothing ends until they solve this dispute.

The foes part, to bind their wounds and deliver to Thanatos his due.
Their battle, shifting to Ilitchion, to be taken up anew.

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