The Truancies Of Our Open Mouths Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Truancies Of Our Open Mouths



I suppose this is what I’ve always been doing,
Cool and reticulated into the jungles of the brand new harems,
And even while I bathe I can hear the engines of
Satanic windmills who are always chewing their stewardesses;
And if we go too long at this, we get too dumb,
But the liquor makes us feel warmed and less alone, even though
It is that we have always been drinking this
Alone,
Alone:
And I went out into the switchbacks of the sweltering palm tree
City again today, and looked for new work and new meat:
Maybe I was looking halfway pretty,
Erin- maybe I will sing to you again, passing through the unlucky
Cards across the muddy tributaries;
Because I am no longer envious, and if you admit that you are
A bad girl, then you can at least come to me, and I can give you
Flowers
And the calling cards and fish who are too fat to sleep;
And we can lie together beneath the school busses and the Florida
Holly,
Each of us kissing the truancies of our open mouths,
And weep
And weep
And weep.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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