The Hosing Trumpets Of Heavy Weight Elephants Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The bodies granulate in pistils and games while
The butterflies make love to the rainbows,
And I don’t want cable television because I will always be
Too busy making love with Alma;
Now envision the photosynthetic train of our children and our
Grandchildren,
Alma- imagine your body’s most divine brownness spread over
The breathing hedgerows of our penultimate bed:
Because even though I am unappreciated by modern society,
Alma:
I still have been published- I am smarter and more prolific than most
English Doctorates, even though all I sell is produce,
And my soul of love for you, Alma:
It is like a wishing well with a golden mouth that is always thirsty
And always spuming its thoughts for you,
Even though it drank of your divine clefts through multiple
Orgasms,
All you said was it could only be that once, but I want to love you
Again and again.
Even though you don’t like to read about these homespun cathedrals
I keep churning for you like ice-cream and the rich parapets
Of cotton candy higher and higher until they become the
Horns of unicorns and the hosing trumpets of
Heavy weight elephants.