In The Motosis Of A Disbelieving And Isolated Earth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

No one seems to be going to sleep in
This house of mine—
My parents, making up all of the haunts of
A timeless space,
Bend down to kiss the abstractions of
My werewolf adolescence—
And the effervescing shrieks happen
One day at a time—
As the waves foam like beer from
The tap spilled by my old muse across the
Street from the old university
Where I just found out that my favorite and
Best professor committed suicide—
Adding,
And doing the math of grasshoppers no one
Believes in- almost two years from now—
There will be a teepee which burns down
In a jungle, and I will think of you—
A student I have right now,
Coming back into my life after all of her
Father's battleships have sunken—
Impossible for her to be thinking of me
As I have sometimes thought of her—
And tomorrow she will have graduated
And wilted into the tenements of her
New and ambivalent neighborhoods—
And nothing will ever accord to me
Or even evaporate off of the happenstance of
Her unbelievable menagerie—
As the macabre lingers like fruit that is too
Afraid to slip into the fingers of the earth,
As the highway divides itself both ways—
In the mitosis of a disbelieving and isolated earth.