Gods writ microscopic,
we are the children of extremes
chitin-clothed, long-dead spores enduring still,
ghosts of ghosts
a billion years dead

For millennia,
we collected your buried tribute
flesh, blood, bones
plastics, garbage, toxic sludge
every sacrifice you unknowingly gave

Now, we emerge from melting permafrost
from chthonic darkness
from fossilized decay

We are the plural gods of Tartarus,
heralds of humanity’s end,
and our hungry spores will root
in your soft and sinful flesh

© 2023 H.V. Patterson