This Lighthearted Responsibility Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I smell the clefts of books in place if finding the
Face of Wallace Stevens.
And I would otherwise want to be anywhere, enlightened,
Stretched out like a cherry and golden worm:
Sure we can all graduate from the enlightened point of state college,
But how can we still touch ourselves while the paint is still
Drying;
And now I have a scar on my temple that will soon disappear,
While you are still speaking uneasily to yourself;
And all the pretty girls grow like hedges, let them grow untamed and
Feral; and they will grow just like Constantine’s balloons,
While I keep the high grade liquor between my legs,
And they keep publishing things that they cannot know, while all of their
Problems grow and grow; and their problems keep on getting multiplied,
While of their cities can find themselves trapped inside in slow
Motion, galloping on their ponies like the private séances
Of the waves and hibiscus; while the water moccasins prance,
And all of the stolen bicycles are stolen into the trances of watery bridges;
And the teal-high mothers don’t have any other words for it other than that
They are all spent on the trail head and that they are all but ready to become
All undone; and the night sure looks busy, but other than that I don’t
Claim any of all of this lighthearted responsibility.