To Metamorphosis Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Then they have another song for you—
As their fingers are dying—
Spiders exhumed alongside the traffic:
As the same sun flickers
Torrentially—then you know it is him
And he will never awaken into you:
This song is your pilgrimage I write from
My gut, like tadpoles wishing
To metamorphosis into you, knocking:
Don’t you know they are here:
All of your princes, waiting for you to
Let them into their truest form with’
Kisses,
As it rains over your shoulders when you
Take a fieldtrip to the museum—
Until another day is over,
And you return to the deformity you take
Every night in bed with him.