Poem Before Sleeping Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The silence is pervasive,
As the caravan approaches midnight,
And I am on my bed but cannot feel her.
Girls with outstanding I.Q.s are looking good,
As they are looking away,
They eat egg sandwiches with extra mayonnaise;
They cross their legs and fart sideways,
Like little archeries,
And it has been half a decade since I’ve made
Out in the park, next to the junked cars
And pornography. Two months until
The primary, and I have only apathy,
And no longer make wishes upon the suburban
Lake, as the sky goes through its menstruations.
I am the desperate man who has settled,
Who doesn’t draw a steady paycheck, but likes
The way the sun looks wet and bareback,
Fancies himself a rimbaudian poet, throws
Jibes like knifes from a blind man’s grasp,
At she who spins in short tassels and gagged gasps.
I love her, I love her, the cliché of my muse,
And I will keep drawing my imperfect abuse in the
Sky they have paraded for holidays, all the angels
Sea-sick from eating too much fleur de sel on their laconic
Voyage, so instead of a prayer I offer a jest,
I’ll lay down my fingers and put the body to rest.