The Bleeding Afternoon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dictates to the Ivy League:
I am just growing up whilst I am drowning—
And I will offer you to arm wrestle while my dog licks my feet:
Tomorrow I will have to wake up to be evaluated—
But suddenly there will be a flame—
And the seasons will no longer be a contender:
Inevitably,
There will be baseball and Halloween, and then Beowulf will
Have to sleep with his dragon,
Even though none of this will ever be published which means—
Just because
I don't know a thing—but the virgins will be as ripe as the
Bonfires—
And in the adventurous architectures of their linear bowers,
They will seem like they take off their clothes
For the pulullations of the moon—but other than that,
They will have trouble breathing—whilst we can make love
And love and watch cartoon and cartoons—
Into the crepuscule as the puppets dance down the shell-rock
Streets of the bleeding afternoon.