Like Comely Hallucinations Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Despondent mayhem, all of your super heroes
Are losers;
And now I hate you, and take back all of my bouquets,
And I wont sell red roses:
I take them back, and keep drawing rivers on my desk
That go outside of class,
And icebergs that sink beneath your skirts:
You sit inside me still, burned like all that is forbidden into
My eyes. I stare straight forward while my friends
Go off and roller-skate and make love in pet cemeteries,
And still you come up
Like a bad rumor; and I want to starve myself until I find
Myself alone at night by the light that has been declassified,
And now is darkness;
And I want to return beside you to the classes that are no
Longer real, and I want to touch our disbelieving and put my fingers
Around one of your ornamental joints,
And laugh in the shallow basins of a bird bath.
Just to do that thing, thinking of you in the reasonable somnambulence
Of what we all supposed to be real, or hoped along as cripples
When we were still young and unconcerned about seeing what
Hemispheres lay like comely hallucinations spread out like
The blankets of lovers from the summit of unobtainable mountains.