The Fuels That I Mean Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Eaten by ghosts, or eaten by grizzly bears:
The night finally grows up and is unhappy about itself-
The night finally gets out of its chair or swing,
And has to go home to confront the mirrors, or that isn’t any of all
That it does:
Maybe it just sits in its corner of its classroom and pines for her,
Even though he figures that she will never be mine,
That I have already eaten the magic beans of poisonous skeletons,
And now I am for sure that I can never again cross the river;
But in the talking mirrors the planets absolutely look nice,
And I have had to starve myself while talking about the coal
Trains all sooty beneath the Christmas tree:
And I will give you a Christmas tree in that time of year,
Alma:
I will give you the gaudy spirit of my soul, because you are all that
I love in this world:
You are the goddess who makes my knuckles crumble and speak
To themselves underneath the billboards of Disney World;
And you are all that I have, like an alligator who only has the road:
Who only knows the lights that will not stop,
Even far after all the waves had come in whispers, who had shipped
Off from the far side of the earth;
And now, finally, the hibernations are over, and I love you as my queen;
And this is just another imperfect night, while I try to keep warm,
Burning for you all of the fuels that I mean.