Tarantula Poem by Robert Rorabeck

As a religion, you should be holy.
When you look out your window, the sea should
Shine her enchanted motes off the roofs of Chevys,
Like signals from a mirror from the underwater angels.
I can take a long walk in the woods to meet you,
But all you’ll give me is your cat to watch as you go away.
The students are flowing to their classrooms like currents,
Some graduate like dying, and others keep on sleeping.
You like it best when you can serve them, teases for which
They tip you when you should already be another,
All your friends just want to hurt you- You are in the movies,
In the reams of extra footage they cut out to keep the budget,
But I stay long afterwards; all night I sleep in you, and
You speak outward with lips as large as black and white water buffalo.
We may have different viewpoints, but we share the same constellation,
But you sound like you don’t wish to know me,
But I don’t know if you have a choice not to. It is raining
Outside your castle, and if you peer out your window, you
Will see the man of your dreams slaying dragons and cop cars
For you, but if you chance to look behind him, you might see me
Nodding in the shadows, typing the continuations of the plot.
This is the denouement arisen from the struggle, where I climb up
And cup you, and kiss your lips like watering with enthusiasm,
And you cant help but not to kiss me back with all your poison;
Withering, I am falling, and all of your night is laid out like a peninsula
For coffin, with shaved legs so that I couldn’t look at your nature,
How pretty it felt to be done in by a princess, but
- As a religion, you should be holy.