Like A City With So Many Stars Poem by Robert Rorabeck

A field fills up like a city with so many stars
Lost from the bedrooms of spaceships,
But these words just become latchkeys for foxes
And homaphones—
Words that sound the same to the conventional franchises
That don’t have to heal until they take a dive:
I am the product of the fast food mountains—
I am so deformed, when I pee it is from all of
My joints and my eyes:
I am a Frankenstein burried up from roses:
I used to teach at your local high school,
I used to dig up both of my eyes to use
To bore into you who have beautiful daughters,
But not alone:
There are still racecars,
And beautiful water falls in Tennesssee:
Let is pretend that they are falling from the water fountains
Of the rural high schools
And I do not have to proofread this poem before
Going to sleep
Or drinking anymore of this white liquor:
Tomorrow, the cars will move back and forth across
Shanghai like ants,
And we will have very little else to prove
Except that I am not beautiful and you will most
Certainly not love forever.