The Sweet Back Of The Far Flung Moon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You give me some much fun under the
Everyday average soirée of the penumbra of
Unabashed banana leaves;
Why did you change your picture after all to fit
My imagination;
And now I am dying halfway painting up the sweet
Pepper-jack nothing almost all the way
Up your skree,
Your eyes like glacial lakes who never awakened or
Sang for me;
And all I have been doing is no good, is only the
Awful runaway of spirits, of nincompoops
Under the rain and all those cinderblocks stoops,
While the bartender puts herself out under the chalk
Silhouette of catholic cathedrals all under the
Ancient Pentecost of that bi-coastal football cathedral;
And all of my words are worms eaten the
Vanquished knights under the witch’s tree, doing good
Work, getting to watch television, waiting for his
Sweet and savage parents to arrive home again
After a full night of baseball, under the witch’s spell
Which is still floating around and spitting cursive
Along the sweet back of the far flung moon.