Murderous Muse Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I spoil my nights by sleep,
When I should be out walking or standing
Up straight,
Tossing my head back,
Philosophically perambulating or
Drinking your low-cut flower which vibrates like
Vintage science-fiction when you laugh;
But why do I keep doing this to myself,
Returning to those same red-bricked halls,
Nearly sylvan from the well-groomed landscaping,
The good hygiene of the gurgling fountains-
I saw you once or twice in just fleeting,
Like a hummingbird on an impossibly light
Bicycle-
The same as I saw you down the sanitized
Halls of high school,
But more developed and alluring because
You were no longer pure;
You’d slightly bled and it wasn’t from
Going to and from classes,
But it was the sun above you
And could not be confused with false light;
And I cannot say it like Baudelaire, but I still
Suck you through my imperfect teeth; though yellowed,
When the idea of you lights upon me, even though
My new university will be on the other side of
The Mississippi, Jesuit and blue,
I’ll imagine still stepping through your echoes,
Like the perfumes you leave to pollinate the studious
Empiricisms,
Tending to my senses in your casually evil
Flirtations, like kisses from a knife’s blade,
Mortally greeted in passing, my false art inspired by the
Heartless bloodstains of my
Murderous muse.