If Jesus were a poet & went around
a bunch of scummy fishermen, con-men,
******, junkies & corrupt politicians &
said 'Hey, Everybody, listen,  Up! I'm Jesus
Christ & this is my story...I won't tell you twice!
I was born before Abraham at the beginning of
time on the right hand of my father! Hoo-o!
Hoo-o!" Fights would break out & the exact
same **** ||would happen. "Hey, Isn't that
Mary & Joseph's kid!"
  "Where's he been hidin'?"
  "Hangin' out with that weird Lazarus & his cousin
John the.."
  "What are the cops doing to him?"
  "Oh, my god! They're killing him!"
  "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"
  "Let Him Go! Let Him Go!"
Truncheons & polished shields
at the ready; women & children
run away in tears screaming.
Pilate says to
Jesus: "You say you're a poet.
Well, let's  here some poetry. Herod
says you're a riot. Maybe I can get you
booked at the Coliseum." Jesus saying
nothing, Pilate resigns; "I hate
performance art," & washing his hands,
says: "I'm going home for a nice tiger
steak dinner. You're on your own...
                        | King of the Poets."
   "Crucify Him! Crucify Him!"
   "Let Him Go! Let Him Go!"
Truncheons & polished shields " |
ready, women & children running
away
in tears
screaming.||