The Always Impossible Being Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Look at all I’ve been doing to myself:
Look at myself in the darkness as it crawls
Like midgets beside the house:
See how I lean my chin back to imbibe the first
Floor boards of the coffin:
And the alligators are watching me carelessly from
The other side of the canal;
And the coral snakes are twisting up before them
Just the off color of corn snakes in
Wonderful kissing balls
Where I couldn’t find a movie tonight,
Nor could I find my love:
She is always married or taken alone down long
Muggy drives, never nodding to the castles I
Have built up like billboards-
I have done this to stop her breathing lessons;
Like a wave leaping, I suppose I have done this,
Or I am doing this again;
And down the street the kidnappers are getting lazy,
And the fair is packing up and taking away all the good
Rides;
And Erin is off alone enjoying the airconditioning of
Her new car- Or her soon to be new man,
And now the roads look really wonderful underneath
Several layers of moonlight; and it almost looks like
Spain,
And in a few hours the roads will look as if they are kept
By ghosts- and then they will be kept by ghosts
Until the morning comes, and the mailboxes are aroused,
And I remember dancing with you there,
Just off hand, hardly bothering the grass,
Until the morning and the dead and your truer love
Come into the always impossible being.