Independant To Nothiing Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I have a band-aid but not where you kissed me;
This is a new hemisphere,
A spherical galaxy over my eye while the traffic goes blinking;
And there are famous cemeteries and famous ladies of the night,
Even better and more prolific than my own:
of two long black veils, and they go sweeping underneath
The sycamores, sashaying and winnowing out across the planted bones
Like the lightest filigree of a dissolving soul,
They travel over the smoothed marble, and the dogs whine stuck
Between the teeth of the world, and the apartments light up
And girls make love to girls
Where the city is a bright place just like a wound under them stars
Who are the first wound:
Who have sat down and eaten the meat off the table while the
Airplanes harrowed them like flies,
The little passengers stupefied by how beautiful and grand was that
Deaths of the loves looming up above them
Like the titans of landlocked hemisphere, like entire constellations
Come into bloom and now evaporating into the necessary
Grandeurs that seems to give all life reason to believe and then go
Happily away leaving only the massive continents of pain,
Like fireworks that never have to die, and yet are independent to
Nothing.