Never Enough To Say Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I drink beer and eat cold hamburger.
Romero bought all of these airplane beers,
And I down them while I try and figure out
What to say:
I want my words to be paper snowflakes:
I want to play football with paper lions,
But school has been over for so long, that
I don’t know what to say.
My great uncle is the head of his department;
He studies the meaning between the stars:
Right now we’re selling pumpkins,
And my day is so long and scarred:
I’d rather be jumping trains- My day rained all
Day, and from somewhere a giant snake spoke
In my ear and told me things I wasn’t suppose
To say; and there were weddings and funerals,
And the stars skipped a beat,
And I wonder how that’s supposed to work out,
That we are all leaving on impenetrable voyages,
For it seems that people are leaving each other just
As readily as each of these universes;
And to reach out and touch someone through the
Epileptic pulsars is just never enough;
And you have your daughter’s eyes, but there is
Just never enough to say.