Too Many Bottles To Count Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Do not applaud what is ninety-five
Percent failure,
Unmarketable, expired:
The crenulations of a frozen river,
The ineffective sulfur of a homeopathic
Spell:
There is nothing true to these relations,
The city avoids what it can’t sell,
The beautiful housewives living well
Displayed in the beautiful neighborhoods,
Each housewive’s home a window
Displaying their aspects of a desirable
Gender;
Expensive wares are desirable and take
A long time to acquire,
The proper spelling to handle, and a
High position;
The waves are so brilliant, though down
From there- the dragons sleep in clutches
Like ship wrecks, green iron cannons molted
Together- the earth bubbles pearled flatulence,
Young gangsters holding hands go into cool
Movie theatres,
Little girls writing their dreams of princely loves;
But this has nothing to do with the soft
Murder I’ve done,
The fetal nebulous of uniformed glass, though
Glowing like a priceless miracle,
Disavowed and in second thought returned to
The un-enchanted womb, who is too busy
Fondling her better intended playboys,
To write excuses to such failures of chaos
In the rabid sea where there are already too
Many bottles to count.