If diamonds were queens
And green grass had wings
We'd stand on the sky
To wave goodbye to the not-so--puritan pioneers,
Black sheep who will marry their sons and daughters off
To the children of other black sheep.

A new tribe,
A new way,
And yet some young wanderer
Finds an old cave.

And standing in the midst
Of the vena vulva cava,
One is too close to see
The great hands carved on each side
Which hold the mouth open.

But once inside,
The vibe of the dark is holy,
And lighting a lantern,
The wanderer beholds
Bas reliefs from ancient olden times.
The wanderer gasps,
Blows the lantern out quickly,
And worships
The vast goddess,
Blindly.


-jenn