Euthanasia Of Airplanes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

After the failing loom of dusk,
Crepuscule,
Soft smotherer of parks and waves,
Eventually bedrooms—
Blindness of the common sense
Puts the common man to sleep
And everyone else
Inside houses
Cats and dogs—
Lovers left to swim in minds alone.
No more emollitions underneath the sun.
The soft thief of the night is out.
You know who she is
And the mind, having no more sense
Of its own,
Cannot even command you to hold
Hands with the ones you know,
The insincere strangers
You are attached to;
But in her beauty floats, perpetually hovering—
Kite of balled snakes
Each with a venom of a planet,
This euthanasia of airplanes trusts us all
To be infatuated with the veneer of closed parks.
Paper airplanes sleeping and spit upon by
Wasps,
Impervious to the tiny thrill of their thoraxes—
Like cloth dolls hung upon by wolves—
I love you now,
Stranger, thief,
Planet made of wax alight by one candle.