Nightly, my spirit
Bounces on the heads of atheists.
Those crowns are the springiest of all,
Hardened, like walnuts inside, but
Their soul-fleshy exteriors are so springy,
So unlike their puppy dogmas.
Each night, we step across the river-crossing
And leap with laughter upon the stepping stones of
I know we shouldn’t,
But it’s an irresistable night-time game;
Bouncing on the heads of atheists:
Into the land of tones and colours
Beyond the limited rainbow,
Into the richer place.
Giggle. Boing! Boing! Boing!