The Divine Absence Of Footfalls Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Color me green or anything- I just want to
Lay across you as I write this poem,
As I engorge by your better faults and lie and say
Its Halloween. I could write for you forever, and compare
Those scars which have awakened me in the image of
The savaged narcissist, which give me good erections,
Which say now we are on another planet;

And you are here, and each star, and that old leaping
Comet- It comes too: It makes you look up, and defines
Your neck, everything about you which is alive;
And I listen to the storm and ride ponies, and pretend that
Now they are having parades down at sea level,
Leggy tramps and tax collectors, and grandmother’s
Entire sets of dolls;

But don’t listen to me now, but lean into me, and whisper
To me something that I should never hear. From your breathless
Lips, send those thistly sails beckoning. Give me hope and a new
Sun, just a pinprick from here. Stare at this side of my face I
Turn in towards you, and shake your head aping the others girls,
As they shake their head, as their curls glisten like molten candy;

And then lay across my palm your flat breast like a dollar bill,
Like carne frita, and let our tongues stick out like fried plantains,
Like the only form of saccharine tricks on this our humbling planet;
And we will be good, and listen to the traffic, and the divine absence
Of footfalls underneath the power lines.