Beneath Your Effluvious Floating Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If I killed organs for you, and to slowly
Seep out of this country and make it past all the
Round titted sphinxes,
Then would you consider me a warrior and unbutton
Your thorax:
You seem to be singing softly as pumice around the
Juicy oranges,
Protecting your breakfast:
Cadmium and chartreuse as the rule of the tiniest of
Deadliest serpents,
Spending your ankles in a cornfield silver feet off the
Earth,
The sun is glorious; and they are all talking about you,
Given up into the lilacs of happy meals,
Overturned in the soft shells of crepuscule,
Or in the vestibule of the church of counterintuitive,
When at night you go to bed in your favorite nooks,
Like a song bird snoring:
You’ve never even read but a single word, and thus you can
Go by happily over spilling,
Not knowing they were all written for you by the dictions
Of men who end up quite lesser beneath your effluvious floating.