Venal, Green-Eyed Muse Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You know that I smell like the smoke
Of Satanic fires;
They’ve been licking the sky all day,
The ragged flags of screaming countries,
Maybe where your sister disappeared,
And where all my money went to:
Today, I cleaned up the mountain without any
Trees,
The witches brewing men into stags:
I was careful, and didn’t buy the cheap house
Underneath the brewery;
And you spun, and spun; and lifting up your
Skirts stamped the grapes,
Caught hummingbirds in your teeth like a
Sly cat: danced in four states at once;
And it’s been a long time since high-school,
But you are still the burning swing,
The sink hole: Did you ever go there,
The Devil’s Mill hopper, where I trained for
Alaska;
Or are you the devil’s mistress yourself?
You get men so high by winking at them-
More importantly you help me write poetry,
Venal, green eyed muse;
But I am not Baudelaire; I got a C in French
Under the palm trees,
But you are not yet breathless,
And I am still alive.