The One You Were Meant To Be With Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Joy to the French girls I have
Never seen-
The ones Rimbaud never kissed-
Because, I am intoxicated-
And feeling the joy of serpents
Who on their bellies spin the
Earth,
And my art takes the shape
Of a werewolf
Barefooted on a lycanthropic
Honeymoon
Strangers keep disturbing-
A blind werewolf with
Blue marbles for eyes
Who is growing a gut
In the immaculate darkness
In a cathedral of vanished pilots
Who tried to disseminated this
Religion and dissapeared
While you stay in bed all
Winter
And your mother washes so
Many dishes- she becomes
A poltergeist staring across the
Canal- and the world of
Your first love dissapears-
And tben the next
And so on
Until the one you were
Meant to be with comes to
Stay.