The Levels Of Brightness Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I suppose that I am going to survive by doing this,
Dog tagged in the anonymous cenotaph,
Bled clean by so many words running together making
Measureless landscapes that return to the pointed
Jubilees of my daycare:
And if we both went up together to pan for gold,
It would still be impossible to come down together,
For only the traffic is now rich, and the previously quiet
Dells are now filled with the fast food pleasures
That we could both serve, tin suited and making
Goo goo eyes,
But when crepescule finally licked the edges of the envelopes
That it was sending away,
We would both have to return home to our big daddies
And our Uncle Sams’ who had us as good as cleaned:
And prepared for dinner,
Our eyes couldn’t even fathom the levels of brightness
Streaming at last through our windows as the world
Fell.