This Too Shall Pass Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ve said enough now to pop a cherry,
And if you had to be my sour grapes,
And I the bitter fox leaping toothily
Up from his determined elements, the dirty
Though truthful earth sick with gravity
To the skyline’s harvest where your veins
Grew breasts nippled with pits, milky:
In truth, you pulled back and played games,
Took your commodities with you skipping the pearly clouds
On commuter airplanes; but still my tongue
Dripped self-inflicted blood as I high-jumped
For that metallic belly which held your thoughts,
And your jellies,
But you came to him instead, trundled in the night,
And creeping hidden of poetry, and fed him of yourself,
The inebriate knight who spent his off hours in
Your restive loci, dripping honeyed- What needn’t happen did, but after
He has eaten enough from you to earn an aching belly,
Do you really think he will head out to the dangerous border,
And slay your dragons and less definitive enemies?
Rather, might you think, that I with my cunning and
Nocturnal pen could have done a better job at lovely assassinations;
Instead, I, as all self-imposed heroes must, I walk away from your
Vineyards, taking nothing from you but the scornfulness
Of Precambrian tourism, heady though defeated,
Kicking up dusk, the windmills on the horizon my immortal
Enemy, I combat to keep this purity, you should neither see nor defend.