Mite Might

65 million dust mites swallow my soul
one for each year since the dinosaurs were deposed
excreting life like crackers in bed
crumbs consumed to children fed
relentless masticating fury
and now I know ankle deep in the estuary
fiery sulfur flickers upon my brow
in the aftermath asking, “Who, what, why, how?”
salty polder regained for the lick-lapping cow
predating lapsed life under cover
as cloaked herbivorous liars
heralding a new order to commence
in another 65 million years hence
when men shall be maggots
and maggots women
in the primordial stew a-swimmin’
a shimmy-shimmy elidin’
counting us down
pound, pound, pound
as they’ve said
us to dust and ashes to us
the last one is a mite rotten


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