Star-Stricken And Woebegone Clouds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

the c*nts spilled out into the
Saturnalia of dweebs:
As the satellites took off, no longer
procrastinating towards the echoes:

She shed her clothes and made love
with her eyes toward the caves:

The land-lines hovered above the houses like
the procrastinations of the waves:

And we bet ourselves into the hands of the cards,
Each day the beautiful girls laying themselves nearer

The microwave ovens of the stars.

The alligators set themselves primodially
pressed against the unusual cold,

Whilst indoors the planets hiberventilated in between
the cul-de-sacs where the forever beautiful
stewardesses found themselves stuck
procrastinating with the

unbelievably lost mermaids amidst the star-stricken and
woebegone clouds.