Your Body's Flirt Poem by Robert Rorabeck

How are you doing what the dry and
Coughing road sent you for,
The things hung in its easements the
Accoutrements for your dirty
Bust,
Your eyes long song birds scuffing the
Ruts,
While the university is already sold out,
Its stolen bicycles now homeless,
And even the new gosh dang its have better
Eyes than you:
Full aglow, like a preachers they never talk
To sing,
While the ephemeral homelessness lathers
You like a less than holy thing-
While you are going up where the road
Pretends its voyage,
As if your stride was a smoky censer
swung before
He laid you; at its full dawning I saw up what
You are, but you kept on into the shadows
Of other mailboxes and their crepuscule,
Like the humming of dangerous cords
And their jellyfish dirt:
You still down know how you are,
As you swing your body’s flirt.