The Metamorphosis Of Their Darting Hemispheres Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words get illusions and before
Long they begin dancing around with themselves,
Like lonely winos sometimes after midnight
Upon tennis courts to close to the
Sea and firehouses;
But of course they are not there, they were
Never there, even as the beach is vanishing,
And the city has taken away the swings my
Mother pushed me on—
That I was able to take my last muse but
Never my wife on—
And nothing of those dreams have held over:
They have all been parceled out like a
Glowing cadaver fed to the true believers
Upon the last Easter of Jesus's resurrection—
And now the mermaids ride their aquatic
Carrousels in slow motion and backwards,
Trying to temp the Grim Reaper one stepper
Closer into the metamorphosis of
Their darting hemispheres.