The Golden Rule Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words on a veranda of awakening species:
There you can see them coming up from the mud,
Crackling,
Like lightning and jub-jub:
Some, some new pagan god must be doing this,
He himself just awakening from
A rusting hatchback,
Frostbit and erudite, but already his dogs are howling:
His dogs are howling as the moon circles.
She too is a pest in love.
She wants to know what is getting up while she steals
Her light,
And puts on her shade over the amphibian quarters,
Her high beams riding through the shanty eaves,
The ghosts towns;
And I would like to say I saw you riding there, a sexy
Centipede in caesuras of ridges, following the power lines,
Following the telephone lines-
Hoping for churches; but the new god proved me wrong,
For he was waking things up from the carport,
Or the easement where the sweetly trained otter was
Already waking up to proposition venal housewives;
And already I can here the traffic;
And already it is time for school- And S- will be awakening
Beside A-,
And this is the golden rule.