What I Could Feel Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words of clues to find beauty,
And grandmother,
So that I become shot full of false arrows.
I bleed ketchup from my armpits
In the cactus and the paper
Snow,
Which is why no one cares,
One car goes by.
My sisters look at me, and the lizards.
My parents make love upstairs,
But I never counted the steps up into
Them in the green carpet like
A forest where I have sometimes hidden
Crumb cake and taken
Lukewarm pisses when I felt the urge;
And airplanes shot down from there,
Down from the Aristotelian spheres of
The ceiling fans,
And looking back at it all I might think
That I was beautiful in my
Little theatre,
Except that you were never there to see me,
You better airplanes touching down in the
Muck bottom fields across the canal.
And who were you kissing in the sunken
Shadows of baseball fields,
What witchcraft were you bending like a golden
Bough,
With your tongue a simple minded flagella
Just feeling up what it could feel.