Second Saturday

A dirty little man who claimed divinity
Worked its way through all his works walked on my ceiling
Conspicuously lacking in concinnity
All he left were dirty footprints and the feeling
That I never should have let him walk up there

But I was too broken then to really care
At the time until those footprints first appeared
Since he made them walking on the other side
Which really is as wonderful as it is weird
Especially now that all the blood has dried

I trace the pattern pleasing in its disarray
Of the footprints of a barking madman's reeling
And nobody can see them but for me
And then just on the second Saturday
According to the whimsy of divinity

+Steven Curtis Lance



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