Really Quite Something Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You’re not my type, or I wasn’t yours,
But the sky is green and filled with a great disorganization
Of letters,
And maybe even Disney-like swans:
Apollo’s caravan where down beneath there are libraries
And girl’s to unhinge like soda-pop,
Even special meanings to the places that seem very real:
And at night, jogging alone traffic filling the cone of an ear
Like a tremendously insouciant waterfall,
I can go beneath the church rising above the dammed everglades
And look at its spire it up and gutting the sky like the spear
Into the side of some fine young god and say almost
Religiously that that is really quite something.