Impervious To The Senses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Refusal to do your songs, as you would have me do them—
Looking up in the midnight you don't believe in,
Seeing the immense yellow eyes of a deer that is just
Shadows: cars and RVs driving beneath her,
As she is on a rise:
Her eyes are the only places in her that are lit up:
Something never perceived on my parents' property—
Something left there, remaining—after
All of the fireworks and Christmas trees and commercial
Heavens are sold—
Like a friend to a werewolf—deer without any light except for
In the eyes—eyes of the homunculus
That even the dogs couldn't smell—the trees are dying,
And there are airplanes and the Pegasus above her—
Stewardesses dreaming like water fountains over the earth—
Where she is like a graveyard that wants more—
She has the carnival smell of perfume interrupted by adultery—
And she is there, impervious to the senses,
Still—even if she doesn't believe in me.