That Absolutely None Of It Is Real Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This world is in the pitiful eye of Satan:
This world who turns around and flaunts and shows its cards
To showgirls:
This world where I love un erringly, where inside nothing
Else that lives loves me:
And I have seen my mother coming down and coming unglued in
The carport
Of spits and shocks,
While the elks and the toads make their moon glows right beside
The carports with the re-bars:
And, Alma- I grew up right here, right beside the ghosts of where
You were bound to live,
But now I don’t live anywhere: Alma:
The world is bound to fail, and the night plumes the sky,
and I remember touching your lips right next to the last albino
Alligator that was yet alive,
But then again at night alone and alone, you touch his lips
Like tattoos of aphrodisiacs and other night blooming
Thugs;
And I try to kill myself to prove that this is not real;
And Alma, Alma: I cannot survive against the pallid ness of your
Away:
I don’t know which ribbon is bound to the censer of your furthest
Planet;
And even the water fountains distend like nubile petraglphys
Who only made the night to obscure intruders;
And now I hear airplanes and cars- but oh, Alma, Alma:
I hope and I swear that absolutely none of it is real.