My tongue has slipped down to my ankle,
a forlorn essence seeped out of my weakness,
a worrisome word of the wise, every one has an Achilles' heel.
But, footloose, pressing on into midnight,
the myth went a wandering.
I touched my toes with my eyelids,
I bent myself out of shape to misalign my view,
to askew this perception of conception,
to renew this idea of convention.
I wore coloured beads and crosses,
i spoke abysmal words with wrong letters,
i crossed out the fiction of the bible,
i walked away with a bigger cross.
My fingernails are clawing at my halo,
searching endlessly for the epitome of divination,
needlessly searching for the source of our creation,
god went wandering on my halo,
he strode the days of dawn,
mythical in his patterns,
he crossed the river styx,
and he wound up in my arms.
My halo has slipped down below my eyes,
and with the words of god, I am playing hangman,
truth and dare,
taking your castle,
with my queen.
god's fingers wrapped around the night,
and trudged him through the nothing,
I haven't heard from him since.