The gardeners gasp the day before

The din in Gethsemane (several men
speak in tongues and hobble in
circles) ceases. Fattened olive trees
crowd the altar where, on bended knee,
the hermit publicized his plea:
tomorrow I die! tomorrow I rise—

and the little goatish man rinses
his feet, claps on their shoulders
the men who believed his story:
how gayer than this, the ecstasy
of fooling men and dying for them—
the charismatic always thrill—

and the little goatish man apprehends
his friends the schizophrenics
and wanderers from the center:
handheld them, the secretive cabal
which admits no heterosexual thrall—
what strange words issue here—

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~ by Jeremy on June 8, 2013.

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