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.