Consecrated Roses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This is not fair: what I want:
Breathing without lungs
Over consecrated roses: if this is my art, it is
Blind and infantile
Listening to words it won’t understand,
While I gave her everything only to watch her
Make love with a serpent-
Beautiful in naked purple
And other lies- and I didn’t suppose that it
Had to happen so many times
In trailer parks underneath the singularity of the moon:
While the scientists reminded us there were
Many other worlds,
But I could only remember this….
And it was a lie they told us to believe in,
Which I supposed was just about enough.