Hooves on dance floors

 Satan was a wonderful dancer.
God played the violence.
The guitar, riff the discussion.
The deadly percussion.

Shaped into the spaces where sunlight cannot reach.
Playing chicken with a line of shade.
Snorting the fallout unafraid.
Surfing the unholy blast wave.

Satan was the adversary at his core.
Chaos was this broad polished floor.
There he goes dancing past like a hurricane.
He pours into vacant people cultivating insane.

Limited freedom inside this reality's sweet sacred haze.
The worlds black and whites only permits him the greys.
God is the guitar, the roar the bark.
The light and often the dark.

The devil can't even claim darkness.
Even the original lie is not of his doing.
Yet Satan can outdance all of heaven.
Breezing inside and outside of those Dali landscapes.

Stalking the raw heart with intent.
The air is tame and smells like God.
So he must spin etherally
and appear arbitrarily.

Each one of us worthless.
Each one of us of exorbitant cost.
I peek into the paradox that shifts inside your mind.
Lesser God's are now insomniacs.

For the sound of dancing hooves on wooden floors
have replaced their presence.