Fading Rainbows Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Its so hard to begin with
The pronoun that could be
A dog,
A ba$tard,
A son while I
Read my books and weep,
Jogging in my basement
While the movies run:
I am ready to move out near the
Muddy threads,
Ready to audition for an
Original voice,
The bachelor’s blood,
My transcendental imaginations:
So, even without liquor,
I think that this is good,
And should be read and tattooed
Upon her body’s pink chariot
While she holds her breath and watches;
And I even think that now her eyes
Are expecting this,
And now reading it her lips
Curl pleasantly redacted like roses drinking,
Even though it is only average;
And some lions maim the brave Christians,
And afterwards the flies hover around the
Windows, the voyeuristic loading bays and docks,
Tax collectors for the great American pies,
Coagulating,
And the fading rainbows leap washed out
Into the tan dumpsters,
Little children ardently riding tricycles which
Squeal and grate each time with rust,
The oaks clinging overhead as they try and
Hide those scars- In fact,
They are also weeping.