Treasure Island

Robert Rorabeck

(04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

The Old Playgrounds

While Dracula was whispering,
I jerked off:
I skirted Miami and looked into her trailer,
I worked for my parents,
And I jerked off:
Later on,
Maybe I went to Disney World,
Maybe I was a knight who just didn’t care—
Maybe I made love to myself,
Over and over, repeatedly
Just so later, I could make my Asian wife
Pee in her pants—
And I gave her orgasms like ant farms,
Like new ways of behaving to the battlements of
Baseball games—
While all of the midnight’s origami was coming
Apart like the accoutrements to the wings
Of a paper airplane—
Until it was settled and
All of the nation was divided—well, here
I was, and here I am anyways—
Waking vampires like daisies beside the road of narcolepsies,
Calling up the fancies of the routes of bygone days,
And the housewives hum
And then remember what was lost to them inside the
Inebriations of their own telltale shadows—
Falling in love with the delusions of madmen
While I become the prettiest delusion of my own species:
While I remain on the rack for a long while—
Whatever the time keeps for itself—
The old memories cast their dice over
The playgrounds that don’t exist here anymore anyways.

Submitted: Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Edited: Thursday, June 27, 2013

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