Every Way Home Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Thanks for nothing,
Old-time marionette of the sky—
I finished another bottle
After the shock value has spent another
Token
And sunken,
Disappeared into the sea—
One way or another
I still have to awaken tomorrow,
With the sawhorses
And then the cold
Green grottos—housewives
That made their money off of
Stolen video games,
Escaping against the teal
And blue green waves—
And other ways out of here,
Echoing through the evaporating
Canyons of their daughters’ lunch rooms,
Believing in lunacy and other
Ways out from here—
Crippled amusement parks that she was
Too afraid to take me too—
Drinking tequila at midnight,
I am too afraid that I cannot turn into another
Person’s doll,
So I remain right here, echoing, heart-fallen,
Last ember in a bedroom that has no place
With itself—
Can’t you remember, or are
You trying to forget—the ways we tried to make
It up that mountain, dead turns at midnight,
And falling behind other things that you could
Not love—
But the dogs loving me,
And the eventual moon light showing me every
Way home.