The Lost Tribe

Let’s gather our bones and gold and dreams and magic
We can burn eternity into a fine ash
Paint the walls with laughing shadows and dancing shades of gray
Then bring them down with deafening questions
Bring what you can and take what you need before dusk awakens
The collectors are in boxed worlds upon our shelves, in our heads
And we gather like a lost tribe around the neon fires & static
Holding our breaths and each other with invisible arms
Until it all becomes a blur, a dull ache, a ringing in our ears
No more festivities, no more rituals
No more sanctuary, until we can say “I love you.” without speaking a word
Until we can breathe without thinking and think without breathing
A lawless kingdom holds us captive, slaves to politicians with erections in their pockets
A kingdom of profane pedophile priests who still cast stones and hide behind stained
altars slowly breaking down what we once were
We are the lost tribe
We search for God in places far too narrow, too confined
Breathe until it disappears and comes back to you