Captain Stormfield Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You believe in God
And you live in New York City?
You deserve a blow-j$b
From the Smithsonian:
Space traveler- How you wake up early
To flirt with your god before cartoons,
But you don’t make much out of a
Canine’s four legged flatulence:
I wouldn’t presuppose much on what you think
Of your own,
Being that you are a yellow dog,
But you are not scared;
And I know you will live forever with
Captain Stormfield satirized, but I’m too
Busy making money to help with your
Ranks of flagellated logic:
You are married and there is a new ring on
Saturn-
In the end, you are better left alone to float
With the angels deep in the throat of your
Wonderfully fabled moan:
Everything is beautiful when animals can speak
Of the moral of the story
After twenty minutes of selling cereal:
And so I love you- but I am just a hobo who isn’t
Real,
On the swing-set of censer knowing I can go back
And forth without any real power,
But I can never get again to where you are,
Motor-powered, righteous and surreal,
But that’s the true game-show of my dysfunctionally
Empirical ordeal.