The Eagerly Forgotten Graveyards Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dying this way- dying, as the leaves on trees in autumn
Know no more summits: getting jobs at fast food
Franchises,
Forgetting the names of the fraternities of old gods,
Forgetting my pledges of allusions to them:
Feckless, rewinding in my off base bedroom, my little house
Bleeding rusty around the edges,
My dogs forgotten in Arizona: drinking dessert wine, and compiling
Myself to the night while the tropical storm turns away and flits of
The phallic back of Florida, like butterflies returning to
Her own bedroom to masturbate:
And I am all alone and un influential- this is how I tire,
While the bonfires recess, while the airplanes and the captains in
Them touch down and curl like wishless micas atop the granites
Of the earth:
While everything I have tried to do doesn’t work out, and starves
In a day or two like a bromeliad needing the genuflections of
Sunlight;
And the ships capsize, and the lions just keep yawning while the
Tourists pirouette deep inside their trams:
And I drink more liquor, like a candle trying to start its own flame:
While you are already tucked away, Alma, fleshed into the armpits
Of his brown hereafter- calling you his women, you give him
Tongue and children,
And you seem to live awhile, like beautiful flowers placed across
The eagerly forgotten graveyards.