Disciples are the family you create

I’ve bountiful friends if all my written creations are counted

those being my emerging thoughts dappled with blinding truth

each will endure somewhere out in the vast cosmos

even though I will someday take my bodily leave

 

Call me a dabbler penning primarily a capella

unsure of who or what germinated these thoughts

am I just picking word mobiles out of the air?

or existentially churning over my existence?

 

I consider my scribblings actually more my disciples

yes, I’m praying for greater loyalty than Jesus received

way past 12, they keep their own emergence time

good company they are although I’ve bid a few farewell

 

No, I cannot healthy up the lamed and twisted

even if the common cur can be taught to heel

however, water to wine stumps our four-legged friends

hey, so what if I’m not the next word messiah?

 

It’s true I once goosed Mona Lisa just to see her smile

it happened in church, in the inner sanctum to be specific

provoking “you shat on the Golden Rule, are you settling for silver?”

I blasphemied, “you wanna be on the comp list for heaven?”

 

Alas, faith, hope and charity used to mean a lot to me

but they broke it off to consort with a twangy published poet

I left to feed the hungry at the sea of Fleur-de-Lis

they raved that my words were nutritious, not so much the story line