Last Night - Poem by Robert Rorabeck
Water whispers like going to the bath:
It makes its runs through the old steady pipes,
Laid out through the fair skin of the
Reticulated from porcelain wash basins for
Muses, going down to the sea of never mind,
Or I don’t care wherever it goes;
And it’s early morning and I can still remember going
Making my rounds through the mists while my
Girlfriend was sleeping,
Delivering, delivering while keys jingled sleepily inside
And mother’s weeping for their newly turned whores.
The rest of the world was upside down,
Hanging from the rafters of blatherskites; and I just
Woke up to the frozen morning decades later,
But I didn’t think of you last night.
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