What Escapes The Land Of Silence And Darkness Poem by Robert Rorabeck

No one answers these pitiful queries:
In time I will shed and not re-grow;
The yard stumbles lost in the season,
A paramour for grandmothers,
I bleed ketchup and stolen dimes.
The dog farts smelling like tiny repetitions
Or seizures in the earth;
It rains the paper snowflakes which I’ve
Cut, and I’m doing no good-
When you get dumb and you’ve never
Been a soldier, what an allusive trick, and
Your only tattoo is hidden,
And you haven’t done any time-
Some old English teacher has accused you of
Plagiarism and called you out behind the portable
Which was erected because of the student overflow.
Why, then just look at her and smile,
And say to her, here I am some twelve years later,
As fresh as a spring chicken and churning my butter;
And it may be true that no one gives damned,
And in the morning the rides will be closed anyways,
But the virgin will still be impregnated- then show
Her how many things can grow in the water stained
Livelihood of vacillating tide;
And explain to her that life sometimes mussels under
The underbellies of commercial airplanes, like
Skipping stones or snowballs;
And you have been to the summit of so many things,
Though little published, it should not matter what
Escapes the land of silence and darkness.