Out Of Thought And Mind Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Call up the devil on his rack,
And with your guts he’ll make a sack

And fill it will all the thoughts you’d
Rather wouldn’t have, and cats and
Skunks and whatnot

And bury it beneath the roots of someplace
Dark,
Beneath the shivering Clemintine
In the zodiac park,

And put upon it a horn of tin,
And from his lips he’ll cast a grin,
As upon you he’ll set up a curio shop
And into it he’ll cry strangers to drop;

And fill that space between the trees
With spider fingers and bowed knees,
And eyes that always seem to peek,
At your corpse just beneath the peat:

Your boots will stick out just like a rind,
And your eyes will stare beneath the Clemintine.
Out of thought and out of mind.