Lost in the transcendental woods, <br />With a beard as knotted as Walt Whitman, <br />Pretty girls whistle at my scars, <br />And even when you get lost its like being in <br />A Disney Movie, <br />Even when you know what’s going to happen, <br />That there is a slab and a mortician with a scale <br />To weigh your brains, <br />And some hungry Mexican to go around afterwards <br />And pick up the spent fireworks from the weeds <br />And wildflowers, <br />Always careful of the rattlesnake’s glowing, <br />Phallic venom, <br />And the tall-legged ways she wrote about how <br />He’d slip through her exposed window after midnight, <br />Like a Chinese dragon; <br />And in the deeper parts of the woods there is incest <br />Infecting dreams, and rich Anglo-Saxon demiurge, <br />And suicide over foamy cataracts which <br />Are also beautiful women, <br />But we will not go that way: This is only a day hike, <br />A kindergarten for children to get lost and steal things <br />And then take breaks for lunch, <br />And they will not live forever here: <br />Their names will not resound or echo and swirl in the <br />Obsessive compulsive basins, <br />And there will neither be time for plastic flowers <br />Or cenotaphs, <br />Because soon their steady parents will be coming back <br />Around from work, or the adulterous cloisters <br />With peanuts from the bar, <br />And they will pick them up and hold them in their <br />Sweaty clairvoyant palms for a little while, <br />Telling them that this cannot happen to them, <br />That they will live just as long as everything else that <br />Isn’t real, and they might chastise us for a little while, <br />Even while we just smile and mow the cemetery’s grounds, <br />And look up through the shaken stuttering of woods, <br />Remembering all those things which couldn’t <br />Possibly be real.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/remembering-all-those-things-which-couldn-t-possibly-be-real/
