I
passed a page, feeling plagiarized, affected in self this morbid shift: those
daydreams clashing, this world of fantasies, this field borne to realities:
this shaky essence, to garlic those eyes, at honey because we need ministry:
this agile creature, this frolicking genus, our tremulous admiration: this
pretzel cadence, those racing dimensions, this minister attending to sexual
complications: those rabid cries, this speedish sensation, our pastors our
mates: this incredible weakness, this incredible person, those remarkable
eyelashes: this arm reaching, this beast preaching, our a.m. chirpings: those
gazelle limbs, this arch bleeding, these familiar ghosts: to beg fidelities, or
plead insouciance, at wonders about this internal chain-ink: those swimming antelopes, our impala
genetics, our leopard appetites: that cinema movie, this ache in bones, this
ecstasy to witness compassion: as men leaping, our tattooed flesh, this elusive
guillotine: those puma jars, those tawny-brown abrasions, this life stippled
upon synaptic gaps: therewith, our souls, ministering in return, this
churchlike-life-retreat: our grazing deers, our herbivores, our abated
intensities: as owls churning, or bats teething, or that sightly hedgehog. This relished sadness, this crawling soul,
our side-bed urine: as age creeping, our palms held, our mothers and fathers as
ministers: our eco-tigers, that guinea feeling, this poem by Blake—or life to
episodes, that warthog chase, those effaced emotions: our mutual combat, our
renegotiations, this race by love: that scorpion fever, that desert chase, this
arid atmosphere: to love as friends, to retreat as lovers, to chisel time with
images: that rising house, our shrimp with rice, our attics stuffed with
memorabilia: those prime-evil-hunters, this inescapable need, while ministers
are chasing dreams: that casual island, this inner den-party, that torrent
manuscript: our mental editors, this raging agenda, as needing by closeness:
that empty couch, that talkative settee, those faithful pillows: those
six-to-twelve eyes, this winter roadrunner, our television rattlesnakes: our
giraffe wits, this kangaroo intuition, this battle to lay claim to our
ministers. I felt by monsters, this
incorrigible ache, this unrevealed footprint: our retina-centimeters, our
approach to existence, this intuitive rhinoceros—as sleeping with chimes, our
doors by mirrors, or those manipulative mentors: hereto, this silent retrieval,
this silent face, this unphysical resentment: as needing in moments, this
faraway Africa, or this nearby Europe: or apophatic
wisdom, or cataphatic love, while
chasing as losing this inner wilderness: as Hildegard Saints, or acrid
creatures, living for arising so close to mystikos:
this raging ocean, those secular instincts, this battle resisting its
native insistence: as tailored manicures, or desert pedicures, while fiddling
for gripping our ministers: those deep sandcastles, our potty-training awry,
our souls needing ministry: that healing voice, our Maybelline citadels, those
neuronic draperies: as living as penguins, or colorful parakeets, while
parachuting through resistance: this inner meadow, those flowing lights, or
that life of celibacy. We utter,
Love, residing in our minister, aware by infirmities: as inner deposits, those echoing
futures, this tale told while seduced: our brandished heartbeats, our random
securities, our inveterate faiths: our exalted erasers, our flailed doubts, our
Anne Rice musings: thitherto, a scar-zone, while vulnerable creatures, our
resilience pitted in mutuality: this fretful flirt, this ingenious mind-surf,
our ink to beaut(s), our jaunts to inner scales: that redeemable soul, those
redeemable qualities, our quantifications: that kitchen trip, this renewed
sentiment, our jousts with hierarchies: this wish to Saint Paul, this closure
in John’s epistle, this wisdom hoped for in James: as hiking by deaths, at
searches by nirvana, a tear to
internal wars!
We
love, Love, because he or she ministers to our infirmities.
