There is a beetle bible. There has to be.
God’s favored children:
eight million unique kinds.
Big, little, black, half-red, blue, green neon
iridescent, flying, flightless,
waste removal, pollination, aphid farming,
Let them have complete authority
over all the earth.
Trillions of tiny souls crawling, digging,
sailing, skimming the universe.
Where are the minature monks
spreading the good word
and sexual positions
through scents and shit?
Where is the dungball soapbox
screaming the end is nigh?
In the beginning was the niche.
It was filled, and it was good.
The beetle bible can’t be read
only smelled. Its syllables are droplets,
pheremones and instinct.
Masters of the world.
Far from ants, those poor slaves
of mass acceptance.
Thou shall not covet
thy neighbors thorax.
They are beetles.
When the world is ablaze,
it will be them and God.
How it was in the beginning.
They already have eternal life.