Once there was a giant
who lived in a kneecap,
a peculiar giant at that
who expelled all reality
as a pig might a poke.
Not concerned with the dilemma
of easing life's toothpaste form
into dental crustings or
oblivion's dark shadows
from lightless paths,
the giant assumed guardianship
over his fibro-tissual home.
The giant could be seen
ferrying dwarfed bones
over the inter causal dome
of flesh and blood.
At times, he substituted
a remarkable likeness
for his kith and kin
by dumping calloused cushions,
too long cousins
of the diaper rash effect
bunions, corns,
carbuncles
eager to roam
the padlocked sockets
between distant fibula
and tibia.
Poor femur, of course, was
outraged against carpals
and the growing phalanx
arrangement of
distant phalanges.
Even the metatarsals
were girdled in
righteous indignation
committed against their person
by a maverick masquerading
in pelvic insubordination.
Altogether the body contains 206 bones.
It is rumoured none contain
a giant of his capacity, notoriety, or effect.