Climbing My Usual Mountains Poem by Robert Rorabeck

So many numbers reveal,
The divine platitudes to the ear-
I want to live beside her and whisper
And reveal my scars
And have her accept them;

So I care nothing about math, and skip out
Over the canal, and wash myself
In the alligator’s dribble,
And swing upside-down under the warming dykes cut up
By palmettos

Now the days are dripping,
And the horses stumble far beneath her
Contemplative gaze- far away on
New savage continents too busy
Getting drunk
To be able to walk a straight line:

All my lines tumble.
They are no good, and they are hungry
But we are out of food.
I would lie and say that I am standing here
Waiting.
Rather I am sitting-
I have eaten my lunch and thrown it up again
To get a goodly poetic look at the inside,
And now all the flies come prettily like
So many crowds fallen winged too high
From all those rollercoasters….

Blue mothers and their offspring decrying
That they deserve more prizes,
While choking on the influx

Waiting for the traffic to bypass,
For some surgery- a year or more since I’ve seen
The ocean I used to flip casually nondescript into,
To piss warmly, an exurban bachelor in that truancy
And now I thirst for her briny lips,
And her brown and kelped bosom.

Tonight I will get drunk and pretend to go into
Her again and steal things which are precious to her,
Which she would have me steal;
But not on Sake, because I live in the far west,
And the best I could do about it was
Cheap rum, the kind I drank as a tip for Christmas-
I will see the barmaid who in my dreams
Is a raspy DJ mostly fading,
But I should not go on about that until I am goodAnd drunk,
And have gotten well started climbing my usual mountains.