Play with me before going back to sleep,
Because the cat has had her seven kittens like in a black
Box in the shadows
Underneath the penumbras of airplanes that go to read brail;
For I have begun vibrating through the fabulous joy
Of graveyards,
Humming the tune of asthmatic drums, that even the flowers
Should close up before they can be realized by the
Tourists have their way to the ritualistic universities to congratulate
Their corpulent and jaundice young:
That Alma can play with me all day the way a dog plays with
Its rabbit in the rock garden until fear or joy destroys the
Poor things heart,
And then she goes away to sleep at her master’s side,
While the ghosts of everything who wished that it was real
Joins the procession through the sepias of the unreal carport
Like the credits in a movie that her eyes never saw,
As they turned away through the darkness
To embrace the happenstances of his casualties of exploits.

Robert Rorabeck

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-happenstances-of-his-casualties-of-exploits/