The Salty Hymn Of A Mumbling Tide Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Failures of rum laughing to me and echoing in
My kidney,
Where my lips have been burying all of this horrendous
Gold of his heavy but untouchable sport:
I cannot read prose anymore, but I get on my bicycle and
Go out towards the mouths where the waterspouts are
Battling heroes,
And I hope for the elements to win, even while the roses of
Another love are impossibly blooming vivaciously out
In the salty hymn of a mumbling tide.