In The Embers Of Jackrabbits Poem by Robert Rorabeck

As it was in the embers of jackrabbits, I took off,
Became the epitome of racehorses that didn't
Have to follow
Except for the in the shadows of their own
Shoulders—
And the night was enlarged and engorged into
A movie theatre,
And the space rockets took off by
Their innumerable waves
While my very own wife never
Had to think again over the next weekend of
China—
And the moon and the satellites prayed the
Prettiest of the pretty girls straight
In—
And straight in to their graves—
Rhyming as the shouldn't do
As long as if
They wanted their pretty savior to
Be pretty saved.