Monday, August 13, 2012

"Gunslinger Jesus"

("Suggested" by my friend, James Ciulik (via a comic by Becky Thyre).  And when my friend James Ciulik "suggests" that I write a poem about Jesus, I write a poem about Jesus, I most certainly do.

And, yes - feel free to read the first letter of each line in a vertical fashion.)

Gunslinger Jesus

Gethsemane really put a few things in perspective:
under no circumstances do I get on that cross.
Not going to happen, never going to do it.
Say what you will about biblical precedent, but
leave me the fuck out of it.  Think of me as
independently-minded if you like, forging my own destiny,
niggardly w/r/t my bodily fluids (sweat, piss, blood)
gallantly splashing the streets of Jerusalem, then Calvary.
Embarrassing, nails through my wrists and feet, side pierced.
Redeeming the shit out of everybody? No,

Jesus got himself a different set of notions, Jesus do:
Enlightened Rogue across my chest, on my hip a
six-shooter, name of Dove.  I got a new dynamic, feel me?
Ultimately, yes, a man of peace - but cross me and die:
silver bullets Papa Bear, Holy Spook.  Silver bullets.


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