"Where do you go to Church?"
I praise skies flushed in orange and red wonder,
Clouds chiseled into time turning phenomena.
I heed voices of reason,
The all-knowing mother, father, sister, brother, friend.

"Where do you go to Church?"
I raise my hands to silly coincidences,
Violent laughter and impulsive smiles.
I sing to intuition,
Mere moments of dazzling brilliance.

"But where do you go to Church?"
I belong to a band of renegades,
Sun spotted illustrations of youth.
I have faith in music,
The universal beat we carry in our chests.

"Where do you go to Church?"
I bow to wind whipped faces and pulsating limbs,
Pastimes for spirited extroverts.
I reflect on powerful innovations,
Instruments of the capable man.

I believe in connections,
Natural, immovable by differing membership.
I pray for love to be an object of you instead of we,
Recognition that faith doesn't spoil the budding Iris.
I don't care where you go to Church.

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