Secret King


My name is Roy Mundi


I am the Secret King of this world


Sheep worship at my feet


Copepods cluster under my toenails in blind, frenzied adoration


Mutant wingless bats hang in great numbers from my groin and armpits


Sandfleas hop about at my feet


High in the mountains granite and basalt faces grin in rugged, stony satisfaction


Mountain giants clap me heartily on the back with hands of iron


 *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *  *  *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *


I lie face down in the deep


Radiolarians radiating from my temples


Brine shrimp play in my hair, which drifts ceaselessly around my shoulders like a bed of gently-waving kelp


Small white crabs creep in formation on my back, raising their pincers in unison to signal my glory to the creatures of the air who wheel and dip and call out in strange unearthly voices from above


Phosphorescent foraminifera envelop me from head to toe in an endless stream of diffused light as I move slowly up and down in the great, green Atlantic swell.











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