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The Last Night of the Last Bokey-Bokey on Earth



Hindquarters glowing dim red in the darkness, you perch on the sleeping man's big toe,

Holding on with your barbed black feet, six eyes gaping like pimento-stuffed olives

'round your pink-glowing knot of a head.

You shiver like a violin string in time with his breathing, so excited you can barely control yourself,

Yet melancholy, for this will be the last time your kind merges with humanity,

With a man,

For you are bzzeep zeep you are the last of the Bokey-Bokeys.


Your name meaning savior

Your name meaning conscience

Your name meaning beauty

Your name meaning hope.


As you shinny up his leg, through the forest of his leg-hair,

You buzzwhistle a traditional song, a mating song that's been with your people always,

Something about crawling through gates, oozing up a tunnel

Burrowing into a mound, piercing clay with roots like needles,

Only the gates are teeth, the tunnel's a windpipe,

Bzzeep zeep the mound's a brain.


Once, men begged your kind to visit them in the night, they made burnt offerings and spoke through shamans and priests who knew the chants and dances it took to draw you from hiding. They cheered and shook rattles as you shinnied up sweat-soaked backbones by firelight, buzzwhistling your litany of promises. Sparks of static flickering from your million-fold cilia, wings glittering like fresh-dipped paraffin, pincers clacking front and back as did the pincers of your forebears, all the countless googolplexes of them in all the nonillions of centuries. Gods you were then, your methods unchanged from the first trilobite, first coelacanth, first dinosaur, first rodent. Names unchanged from the grunts of the first amphibian squatting in the mud, buh-kee...buh-kee...Bokey...Bokey...first gods of the creatures of the Earth, bzzeep zeep and now this, and now you.

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