Dogs Get Smarter As They Drink Rum Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Going down into the dreams that are
Detrimental,
Opening our hands up like this like the
Mimes for butterflies,
Even when there is no walls of shade;
Drinking too much liquor makes you cool
And forgetful,
And I wanted to relate this to the impassible
Summits in Colorado,
Which I surmounted four at a time:
I really did, and now I am trying the publishing
Tricks and no one cares unless your
Smile is straight and polished,
And I loved you, I loved you, Mrs. Sommelier,
And look at your usual children-
Yes, even they are beautiful, but where will they
Homestead;
And will you look for me under the earliest lampshades
Of discovered electricity after the day is gone,
And you are lying down with your pomaded husband,
And isn’t it very casual and thought out-
Utterly serene with the car in the garage, and glitter
On the pool- and two and a half cable Tvs,
And golf clubs leaning in the wall beside the car:
I can grow bigger or smaller according to the degrees
Of how your corneas dilate on my passionate scars,
And the angles I use to nervously relate to you,
Courting you gloomily and calling you out under the eaves
Of the new stars before Halloween,
Assuring you that the alligator can read your sweaty fortune,
And the lulling of the stagnant tide will persuade you,
Out into the adulterous penumbra where I will put my
Hands upon your shoulders, feeling the outline of your bra,
And pushing you up and down, your bare feet leaving
Their eccentricities of the alternate reality I would like to
Cartography into the unbounded territories I would like
To leave for with you.