Faithful And Beloved Pets Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My houses look like they have survived the fall of
Their bust
To land on the wicked witches of their ruby toed trust;
And now I am out of liquor,
And the parks glide like silent, water-killed rainbows
Through the darks of all this metropolis:
This is how it is going every night without candles.
And somewhere close Diana is sleeping- and further
Away you are sleeping;
And up in the mountains Sharon suckles her child while
Her husband congratulates himself with farts of jokes;
And I am doing this like a rodeo clown, suspecting that
Kelly has it in for some other man,
But all the time either wanting you or something else,
While my poems die like billfolds, like forlorn trusts;
And yet there are places yet perceived underneath the overpasses;
There are green copper cannons that I can still trust;
And the sea is just off a pace; and I almost touched her today;
And later on I touched myself and I am gray:
And I am a story book you will never read, Erin. How beautiful
You are physically to believe in nothing,
And I wish to speak to you again, but I hate you; and you are
Like a dangerous and venal flower being sniffed by the nostrils of
An extremely disastrous crocodile, E- And I want to love you,
But you are a movie that has sold out in a theatre full of brown faced
Though innocuous men, like something I have failed but
Can never understand; so keep to the contagion of your camps
And those things that you can enjoy,
Because I really want for you to love something, to prove myself wrong;
To prove I am an amputee in my failed art, Erin:
That I don’t or should not exist, and the graveyard is yet blooming,
And your lips are yet beautiful and even now bending down
To enjoy the snout of your faithful and beloved pets.