Your Jesus (who dons a red cap)

Your Jesus

who dons a red cap

and brandishes

the American flag

on the steps of an earthen fortress

to demand the restoration of God’s nation

is not my Jesus.

Your Jesus

cover boy

of your eleventh hour attempt

to wake sleepers dead to the demise

of God’s chosen democracy

is not my Jesus.

Your megaphone message

on the public square

forcing repentance

lest we be damned

by our own folly

banned forever

from that apocalyptic dance

in the blood-soaked valley

called God’s Revenge

or, as in some modern translations,

God’s Promised Land

is not my Jesus.

I tune out revolution chaos

to meditate on

the outcast

sowing slow-growth seeds

which yield










He is unarmed,

waiting on the dawn-cool fields

of a buzzing harvest

to show you a better way

on roads unseen

through a country not yet born.

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