I am here to spread the gospel.
Yes I do declare I am a diligent disciple.
I have come to gaggle the good news,
to proselytize the perpetuity of heavenly wisdom.
I have come here to speak on behalf of poets everywhere:
young and old, alive and dead,
of all nationalities, ethnicities, genders, ****** orientations,
of every human being loitering upon this lush and teeming rock--
I have come to spread your word!
We, the poets,
beg you to hear our words
and put them in your mouth.
Store them in a cheek;
chew thoughtfully, and don't floss,
so we may linger between your teeth--
ready to eject with your spit we shall speak for you
and you shall speak for us.
We lie dead in the dirt until you breath life into us.
We sit poised on your tongue waiting for you to lash
into the air piercing thought bubbles with your voice.
We are instruments lying collecting dust in their cases,
ready to be grasped within calloused hands
and clasped between ruddy lips.
I have come here to tell you how to become a disciple as I:
Lovers, bring us to share!
Speak to your hearts from within worn and jaundiced pages;
we are merely ink stains until you make sense of it all.
Until you speak us into life
Until you soak us into your soul
Until you weave us into the very fibers of your being.
Fighters, bring us to bear!
Shout to your foes from atop grainy soapboxes
embedded within the grassy earth;
let your commanding footing propel you into the heavens!
Feel the wind carry your voice across the open plain and
SPEAK! BELLOW! SHOUT! BATTLE CRY!
They shall know the fear in their bones
and the goose flesh under their rattling armor
like death prickling the hairs on the back of their neck
until they become trodden in the earth like footstools--
until you walk across them head held high and victorious.
Pedestrians! Love if you dare!
Whisper these words under your breath,
holding doors and blessing sneezes,
smiling lovingly and making eye contact purposefully.
Take the joy in stranger's company or in solitude;
we will linger like pleasant specters,
like a lover's ghost:
waiting for you to follow me into eternity.
Yes, I do declare to be a diligent disciple,
and I roam through dusky towns with no pack on my back
nor a shelter over my matted head;
shouting through barren city streets into the desperate night,
roaming these dusty corridors praying a stranger opens their front door
and turns on the porch light
and lets me in for supper and a place to rest my weary head.
Though I'll soon be on my way again in the morrow,
my prayer,
the one of every aching poet in the midnight haze,
is that I'll linger.
