Underneath The Ceiling Fans Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Mountains and mountains of
Werewolves jackknifed into switchblades:
Boys who could have been pretty
But wasn’t and weren’t:
Beneath a sky filled with the bitterness of unsealed promises
Of lotteries of virgins given over to the cul-de-sacs
Of insatiable demons:
Getting their tattoos underneath the ceiling fans
Just becomes the housewives would be too busy to attend
Their games anyways- and the fuses were lighted
From their churchyards across the street from
The pet cemeteries of their papier-mâché
Hearts: and I wanted to love them,
But the hotel rooms were empty anyways
When I got to them- and the entire campus was an echo-
And echo-
And the true lovers were found down in their basements
Spinning bottles- and trying to grow up without truly understanding
Who they really were.