Making A Lustrous Graveyard Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now you have a new charge through the
Theatre,
As the animals try to become surreal-
As I’ve just been painting house,
As the daylight fades- and this is just another
Forgotten carnival that doesn’t even make
Enough money to pay for itself:
Abandoned in its tenements to no one in
Particular,
As the fire eats the world and then
Slowly fades,
As the Indians have been drinking themselves into
Ditches,
As the witches circulate and clean the presupposed
Earth from their brooms,
And the fireworks hiccup from the prefabrications
Of their short lived rooms-
Just as, struggling up the mountain- and through
The prefabricated hallucinations in the patriotisms
Of whatever country I suppose in which we
Are-
I try calling to you once again, as if kissing the pages
Of forlorn pornography, flying their inglorious
Adultery over the hood ornaments
Making a lustrous graveyard out of my car.