In A Land Of Lesser Gods.

In A Land Of Lesser Gods.



In a pasture of tall grass

I become a flesh log,
lying perfectly still,

stubble nubs scratching my belly.

I am a depression of six feet

splayed across living matter,
a detour for the many busy insects

scurrying around me
over me, and under me in

zig-zag patterns of fierce intent.

Face down I observe their world,

a God looming over them
grasshoppers flit and vanish,

ladybugs spread their red coats,
and grace my arm for brief moments,

ants carry on with
thier carry out of bug legs,

various crumbs and dead bird flesh.
Gnats assault my sweat stained skin,

saline and then sailing,
Flys swoop, tiny buzz bombs,

to tickle unreachable places,
bees seek to make honey

from the aqua velva scent I carry.

The sun bathes me,

a soothing sauna,

as I peruse the underworld.

Soon enough I rise,

careful not to destroy

the tiny lives I've left below,
and walk delicately back to the road,

where I pause to look
high above me where another God

perhaps smiles down at me,
a miniscule speck in his vast

creative smorgasbord below.
The clouds move on,

and soon enough I follow,

humbled by
my plunge into the unseen world

we all use daily as a carpet.

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