So Many Dazzling Layers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All day long in a glass boat
Of worries,
You can see right through my scars,
Like the belly of a shucked serpent
Deflowered by ants,
The rind of a man flung down from
A ski lift,
Lost in the slopes of some jovial tourism,
The busty blonds and their accoutrements
Rippling banally,
Chatting it up with rosy,
Displacing lips,
All their makeup and spangles rippling
Like sick leaves in
A fast car jungle:
But don’t you see that the mountain is
Silent,
Holding so many dead things, so many half
Evolved meals,
And lying there underneath the blue and
Awful banner
Where the trees yet go unmolested where
Philosophy still has a chance
To resound in sort of a penal and triumphant
Whisper,
Impotently like the sweet voiced castrati
That I love you in a park of floating
Doom,
And you can see me right to the bottom and
All the gold fish I’ve won for you
The empirically unobtainable prizes floating
Like the wounds of snow
Covering up the more beautiful beasts underneath
The so many dazzling layers of her more
Zealous eyes.