Gratuitous Dread Presence

Queen Be

 

I'm a queen bee and I'm only three

so I don't have any problems being free

to pursue my search for summer's flowers

in which I can use to draw my powers

with my wand and my wings I can spread love around

and shun those things that are profound

because I'm a queen bee and I'm only three

and I'm too busy being free.

 

I'm a queen bee and it's fun to be me

each morning a gateway to to a world that's free

of pain and desire and withering glowers

or of the complications of weighted bowers

my energy and passion robustly abound

as I spend my afternoons running around

because I'm a queen bee and I'm only three

and that's the only way for me.

 

I'm a queen bee and I can see

that the twilight makes it harder for me

to play in the grass amidst the flowers

because I didn't care that minutes change into hours

but if I listen carefully I can still hear the sound

of my giddiness in simplicity abound

because I'm a queen bee and I'm only three

and the whole world seems to love me.

Church of the Rez

It was kind of dead here

in that last gasp of darkness before dawn is made apparent

but came a man likened to a church mouse

to unlock the door, to walk across the floor

and flip the switches that woke up the building

once he attired the pile of bricks with appropriate light

he drew upon his vestments

thickly white and starched to hide his tail

and stood at the head of the staircase

to watch the reawakening.

 

And that’s how we found him

at the top of a steep staircase

urging us on to the glory of a world steeped in faith

below we conspire

to burn the incense and light the candles this time in a way better then perfect

using smoke and light to breathe fire into the belly

staining the bricks brown with the soot of our sins

before we leave them in the basement

with our other inconvenient prejudices.

 

But when we crack open the recycled manuals

there are stories to be sung into life

at this church of resurrection.