The Slothful Metamorphosis Of Aphoristic Midnight Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sand-lion, mountain lion,
Hermaphrodite- Some f%cker has stolen
My kite,
And the waves come up phosphorous all
Damp, enraptured honeybees-
Golf courses of crinkling foil
The never-ending beauties of uneven verisimilitude,
Jujubees and lightning bugs caught in the can
Of a young mongoloid and pitied up,
Made to sing dying fire:
Rope tricks slender knots around the woman going
Up into the sky
Who really isn’t there, suicide of smoke signals,
Her bangs, weathervanes and occult fingerpointing
Over the old bathrooms of high school and
College,
Worlds of young homes fitting in a peg board
In a game of restaurateurs- proving there really is
No easy solution for mutton headed ingeniousness,
The airplanes like flares leaping from point
To point seeming to last forever
As long as Zeno keeps them in sight;
Then, finally, sweet and functional girls settling into
Bed, turning into cricks and aspens all with the power
To dispel the needs of life,
Never thinking to yawn up and scratch my
Superstitious jaw drooling over them all the faucets
Of never feel,
Which has the power to bath and manipulate their
Petit souls after the slothful metamorphosis of
Aphoristic midnight.