Immortality Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Lost things parked on the road, and the satellites mew
As they fluctuate over a heathen’s suburbia:
And I don’t have to look away- but I do: there is wine in the
Glass,
Dessert wine from somewhere arid where there is no need for
Canoes,
Or hypnosis: the mirages come at their own will,
Piling like butterflies over buildings: if there was a fire,
It would be leaping everywhere, as the rain comes down
No where:
And there are no canals: the alligators there are just cenotaphs,
And the world that no one survives to know really flies by;
It leaps through the catastrophes as it burns away,
Like something of a pulpit as the lion hoops, grinning continuously
For the catastrophe of its tourisms:
And I say these things to myself as I imbibe; as I just lost another
Far better poem to oblivion- but it was rubbish anyways:
And I am alone, and have no fear of ever finding immortality.