In Such A Way Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My bed is no longer indigo,
But I have strange, milkshake dreams
And I can put you in them,
Most of the time after I have mowed the yard
And picked up all the empty liquor bottles,
Then look at me,
And all of my blue phalluses spinning,
Pullulating like dumbwaiters and pitchforks;
And girls are pretty, aren’t they,
And I have dark shadows around my damaged
Eyes even darker than Don Jaun’s
Valentine’s mask;
And I can stand out and shirk the crowds and
Become my own pagan holiday,
Give off my own little pantheistic sacrifices
For girls who don’t even care-
I can kiss my wrists like kittens, like goldfish,
Under the streams of unreachable traffic,
And you wouldn’t even know,
The girl who wouldn’t care even if the lighthouse
Was turned off,
And all the dorms emptied of pretty pony-tails,
And all the sea pitch black and moving very little
And seeming to court the disinterested orange groves
In such a way.