The New Testament, Abridged

Jesus was a poet,
arriving at weddings
armed with lies and
a bottle of cheap wine.

Never letting the dead
rest easy in their sleep,
he allowed the academics
to strip off his robes
and drive nails through
his hands and feet.

He left behind
his silly sycophants
to spend eternity
repairing the holes
in their nets.

He walked nimbly
over the water simply
because he had never
been taught to swim.

His poems were
prayers to the deaf sky,
words scratched onto
a child’s paper chain.

Jesus was a poet,
and like the poet,
no wiser than
the man who
goes to the well to
gape into his reflection
and quench his thirst.