With A Man Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I drink green beer
And I really want to see your stupid
D$ck, joto:
Policias, banditos, bandejos, maricons.
We’ll go to the movies often
And pray-
Tip your flask and show me your best
Dance,
Like a tipsy zoetrope in a sinking ship
All before the scentless
Plum trees,
Tremulous-
Coyotes coming to your lips,
Scenting your grave,
Because I have seen you in the segregated
Graveyard
In a crèche of rotten spikenard,
But I love you and cursed you,
Dousing your vivisected abutments with
Gasoline and army ants,
And the little known sins you committed in your
Bedroom during high school:
The boys you loved,
Their torn shadows populating you now,
Or ululating like horrible arcades and pinball
Machines of giant painted breasts
And consumptive vampires.
Now you are lost in an overwhelming house
With a man that has penetrated you so many
Times as to become numb,
Now a disproved science,
Wanting new golden apes, bighting your clenched
Fist as it snows fabulously metamorphosis angels.
Who cares if I say I love you,
If you never choose to look up to the sky
To acknowledge how beautifully you are crowned.