Keeping To The Jungles Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The chances were golden and made to fly and
They stuck to the roofs of all of our loneliness like
Little children of nocturnal mothers
And I saw you hanging out at your favorite store with
Another man,
And then you were on the seesaw, but you didn’t look
Like you were having fun:
Now all of the waves crawl with the undulations of
Unending centipedes,
The way sick dogs crawl on their bellies and worms devour
Themselves in unhealthy wood,
And I have been keeping to the jungles where the canopy
Is so thick that I don’t have to read the stars,
Or look up and tell the time, though I am already certain
You are not coming.