mission impossible

i am a missionary.
not a position, but a worshiper.
a bandaged soul who looks for love inside the chalice.
inside the cup.

it runneth over, but not to me.
it runneth all over town and through the woods,
to where blind men grasp for straws and powder and purpose.

i am a missionary.
not a priest, but a poet.
a reckless soul who spills his fluids
over paper and prose.

pen is short for penis
and i grasp onto mine
in hopes that it has yet to write the great unamerican novel.

blessed are the peacekeepers
for they make room for the revolutionaries.
they feed and clothe us
and keep us in their prayers.
we hold guns that shoot more than bullets,
more than air,
more than love
and more than words.

i am a missionary.
not a savior, but a song.

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