Lonely Singer Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Leaving the center- what do the heroes hope to find,
Leaving their women behind,
And all the pretty things that they bought for them,
Their lime stone carports and their two and one half children:
All of their hearts of palm,
And their beautifully beautiful landscaping:
Now I just wish I was not at home so that I would have to be
Forced to watch them,
Going into the smoldering crags where they will forget themselves:
They will find their sisters, and not recognizing them,
Make love to them,
Until the dragons help them to remember, and then they will
Need to help to force themselves down into the unending spray of the
Glutinous cataracts;
And I am sure that I wish that I have no relationship to them-
Even though some women think them beautiful,
And their shields are golden: they are all doomed into the spiraling
Caesuras, leaving their wives at home to become the fetishes
Bedded by either greater or lesser magicians;
So now I am sure that I must be glad that I am a tramp, a lonely singer,
Who has neither known a center, nor has a center deep inside of him.