The Other Side Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Spikenard is a beautiful thought,
As the two year old bottle hit’s the lips,
And maybe this is what I should have been
Waiting for
And drinking all along;
Or maybe I should just remain sober and think of
You,
Heaven ensconced egret:
And now I can hardly fly, and now I don’t
Think I have the right to,
While the traffic moves, while the traffic flies,
And I don’t have the right to hardly
Look beautiful,
While you are the reason why night time creases
At midnight,
And the cops finally fall asleep,
Finally coming into their brides,
Bowing their ribbons,
And crossing their fields to get to
The other side.