well, for what it's worth

[bonegatherer]

"This prayer does not beg.
It demands.
It calls forth.
It wraps its calloused hands
Around the root of the matter
And manipulates its own answer,
While the gods pace excitedly at the edges
Waiting for their names to be called.
A chance to satisfy the craving.
To grab the mundane
By Her wild, woolly hair
And kiss Her full on the mouth.
To know the overwhelming experience
Of a dream so concrete.

But they do not understand
The forgetfulness of the matter.
They do not understand
The stories I bring back
Of choices made
While wandering the labyrinth
Of these dark, descending rites.
The frantic search for the pieces of smooth bone
And the song to sing over them
To bring them back to life.

I have been to that place that they seek.
Sat with the devil.
Dined with him.
Copulated with him.
Felt his seed swirl inside
Trying to take hold.
"Yes, and what of it?" I say.
"You judge? Careful.
You just might find yourself
At his table one day
Trying to remember your name.
Trying to remember
That you, too,
Were once a god."