Composite catholic

"Life is short, eternity is long" (John Henry Newman) 

It was face, and it was eyes, at first

The asphyxiating power of chins-- now every strutting cleric in
  cane and top hat stupidly mimics it

It is now hugs, and it lacks eyes: trained in the sands & winds,
  simulacrum to the wise

To dress and get fat are its rule, & to invite doctors to its table
  rather than to be one

It was principium but now goes after neat retreats and rainbows:
   the unalterableness of  parades

Psychic or animal: to choose then meant to be face and eyes,
  & eating felt like it

It was okay to be heretical so long as it felt like it, and it hurt
  & and now it doesn't
 
 
 

Something ought to be said

about these naysayers of divinity: so much anal sputum,
so much smear of all the creepy two-spirits!

Ha! as if they'd sent their goon she-bishops to shut me
 down, "Away with Conradus; tear him in two!"

Consider the case, with care: sticks and holes alone do
 not a being make, rearrange 'em all you like

& see for yourself if a Tree springs from seed that's
  ontically fingered in deep & dirty

    Ha!

Wittgenstein's lion (8)

prophesying, says

a fallen ox, in itself bovine, and understood as such could be
  eaten, ignored, or argued against all you like;

satiety, misapprehension, clumsiness of it and like others can
   serve as accredited causes of death; &

the weak will die as really & thrash in the sand, under me,
  as sink under the weight of a sort of carnality

hmmm, that cannot be paralleled either by anything watery
  or any silly simum breeze you've got.

       Teeth, breath & breezes, again


 

Wittgenstein's lion (7)

says, parenthetically

further, at the troughs are half a tribe of ankles and
  chins, lanky irregular hips

who've easily passed by without bites and scratches
  I won't blacken the women

It's not their time yet; & it is slow going for a 1% heart
  Telling the greater from the less

like lips from the threatening groin, ear from grass
  is sufficient for now

 I kill & cop with credentials!
 

Wittgenstein's lion (6)

says of the corporeity of love,


if we see each other as two imperishable wholes
  and hide our twin thirsts,

& it seems we do; and if it seems we're not our-
  selves but reeking rabbit flesh,

pushing to possess more of what is very irreal,
   &more of you inside myself,

and if never becoming simply aroused  affects,
   possesses and arouses,

and if I'm barely 1% heart, stupendous as it seems,
    and am barely flesh:--

if  all this is true and it seems it is and you must die,
  a bocca aperta!

              
 

Wittgenstein's lion (5)

says, in a troubled mood,

if I pass into flesh, as if, or for as long as you do
  run & stupidly look

like two elands locked in fear, quietly kneeled:
  if, if...

such a flesh, and not  just yours bowed in fear
  makes me real,

if, if...
 

Wittgenstein's lion (4)

in loving, says

for as long as you're dear you're still something to die for. How?
  Always available, always there

you veer into sinewy culpable jaw with a sprinkle of dirt to keep
  me dry: to give yourself like the ewe!

My spring's erotic, full-fledged & it shoots like a bolt to the very
  nape. I kill by both feeling and feet,

sucking dirt with or without you-- untouchable, unassimilable you!
  Swear always to be you!