Into Another Far Off And Lycanthropic Night Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sickness swimming in its caesuras; its beautiful
Absences where the living go beneath the swirling horizon,
Are very well forgotten:
This sea like the incrimination of stones;
Or a wax euphoria going to lead the masses to burn religious
Candles in the tallow of masses;
And it almost seems like a Christmas tree the lions have
Been gnawing; or something dangerous like an opium
Pipe conjoined to your lips:
And you are missing school, partying with your friends,
Shooting semiprecious angels with bb guns;
And you have an entertaining time even if you don’t win
You immortality: Like my words birthed like empty amphibians
In the open games of the carport:
Over the hills there is sunlight, but what is it good for if
You wont ever lay down your powerful instruments and go to
Bed: You body breathing its wimpled stems, and the other
Words I don’t know;
And yet it all seems really strung out and happy;
And I suppose you wont ever leave that town again;
But you will go on and on chasing guitars and mailboxes
Long after your classes have ended, and all that was envious of
You has disappeared like gypsies into another far off and lycanthropic
Night.