Superfluous Screams Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All these words are twirling waste
Down the toilet,
Dripping down the wet ears of
The sink hole’s verdant ferns,
Sitting on the head of a sleeping monarch,
Being drowned in the salty undertow
Far away from the woman’s ear,
The wishing well these little
Silver worthless things were meant
To be received by
Like children shattered in a shallow cave—
I cannot see what I am doing anymore.
Driving in the rain, I close my eyes
And when I look again
I expect to see her standing naked
And suppliant, being caressed by
The storm and my headlights
As I run into her and watch
The old car make some kind
Of love for a second or less
Before the world starts spinning again,
The average everyday screams nobody
Hears because it is going on ceaselessly
In the cryptorchid bedrooms of
Blue-collar kings and their azure bitches.
The sound that became when God
Got drunk and went to town,
Fertilized the Universe’s womb,
And refused responsibility for life.
The background noise we make love
And die to. The song of her life
She is too busy dancing for
To care to hear the superfluous screams,
The organ grinder plays as his pet monkey
Tips his doll-sized hat to collect her change,
The priceless rhythm which seems to listen
To my very soul
Whenever her eyes pour down upon me.