The Salt Of The Names Cursed From The Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Nose bleed through my skeleton
And I will have to almost go to school tomorrow—
These blinds are getting dirty—
But these are the steps through the fitful night
Theatres of here or wherever while the night
Comes and the cartoons are beginning to look beautiful—
And then a lawnmower of my last muse while the
Perfumes of the beautiful flowers are blown away—
And the gods that had to be within our second guesses
Are found forever—
And the daylight fades light vampires over the shades of
Our second houses—And for a while we are here—
While the dead—and then we are here wherever—
And this cannot be foretold—because this is not in rhyme—and
This is not even a poem—but I am getting out of bed—
And then I am getting up to live forever—
While then the movie theatre is resurrected—and then while
Then the movie theatre is filled with science fiction and
My numb fingers in an espionage have to spell it out for
Themselves- while we slept underneath the baseball mausoleum
Another shadow and another place to devolve
While the cenotaphs of the puppets had to happen out forever
Just as was the baseball games over the salt of the names
Curses from the seas-