The Drinking Glass Of My Soul Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to be friends- but it will mean I’ll have
To drink more.
I have a terrible craving for turkey,
And beautiful girls are surfing in the hair-lips of
Waves; it is the best place to begin,
With the sun fluctuating like a bad heart,
The kind the virgin wears over her apron while
Baking cookies; and I haven’t been reading
Anything good, but just slipping further down the
Damp easement toward the terrible smiles of
Crocodiles- Cant you tell- that its all a lie,
That I’m all over my bad drugs- I stick to
Disney World and cheap liquor- and I want more,
And more of it, these fun rides next to strange
Blondes, helium filled contraptions next to the sea;
And you have to really want it,
To fight with the charactures of death, to remember
The places you were born, the spawning pools,
The vile slime of so many dividing cells- Like Cheap,
Hollywood sci-fi, waiting for the artificial intelligence
To die- I remember- I remember her, sure:
She held my hand and we picked fireflies- Then she
Betrayed me with her own blood in her mouth,
The favorite topping to her new freshman’s phallus;
And now, old boy, my head is a toy- Let me think.
My head feels so good in my hands, my head is a pumpkin
Wildfire, and I am still waiting for my refund from
Saint Louis. My father is a cheap devil with a beer belly
With so many horses they sh! t all through the forest,
They’ve killed the trees, and now he is hungry, he is hungry
For the thighs of dead girlfriends sisters,
For the walls and forts of coquina, but I am just trying to
Survive doggy-style, Bukowski-style- up here with
The reintroduced wolves- This is my neighborhood,
And I don’t know what else to tell you- I’ve forgotten what
Else to say, but I assure you it was beautiful,
Even to the eyes of shotgunned ghosts- It was beautiful,
But these words will die before I die,
So it is all the same- Excuse me now while I sit this one out
To refill the drinking glass of my soul….