You shepherd of the flock keeper of the fold ushered me out the gate black sheep that I am with your staff the staff of God warped into a weapon wielded without warning.
Battered, bruised, bleeding, I begged forgiveness a hearing safe clearing if not for me for this little lamb of mine little lamb little lamb of God.
I one just one sheep forgotten for the 99 you shepherd of the flock keeper of the fold return to without remorse with pride in pretty obedient sheep in the pew.
Just as life during the pandemic was color-coded with different hues representing different levels of danger, life in its aftermath has become shaded in similar ways. As a self-styled “Seeker of Beauty with Beauty,” (borrowing from a quote by W.E.B.
A homonymless man writes shows what it's like to look up the laid he skirts when you’re lying prone(d) to the sidewalk, beer / joint / needle dangling from your hand /lips / arm.
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