Deep Inside My Cave Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dreams are caracoled while I lay off in the shadows
Trying to do better work for you;
But your man is a fireman: he is a classical hero with
Big tits that bounce like dancing girls:
He drinks so much juice and curls so much iron:
This is what the mongoloids do while they drool up the
Blouses of airplanes:
This is your world in the little houses underneath the
Deciduous trees, underneath the park benches:
This is ironically the greatest turn out of the university,
And you feed them your amber juices and they grow
Big, big:
Until they become bulls and slide under cars to look
Up their skirts: I wonder if you can remember who your
Sister was, because she was once like you; and I
Make up memories just to try to recall who you were:
I pretend I carry your books to school; but the dancehall is
Empty and all of the corsages have been donated to
Graveyards: Only your men can truly say where you are,
Curling through the darkness, saving you like a well
Bosomed unicorn and glowing with your immortal insouciance,
The waves resonating from the pools of the monsters you’ve
Laid to rest; and I imagine all of this high atop my castle,
Or deep inside my cave.