Fail To Mention Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bragging of the silence,
The emptiness after the last of the echoes
Of really great music
Have gone away, and stepped off the buses;
And I watch two brothers jerking
Each other off,
And have to be disappointed that it is only
Figuratively-
And I read Borges, and want to kill myself,
Because I am not Borges:
I am just doing this- Maybe I a betting for
Divine Providences at the races,
Hoping that my tongue will be loose and
Skip well through the mud of
My liquors:
Doing this to quench the tears that I am not
More,
That there is another, much blacker man right
Now fulfilling the swing-set
I want to get on,
Just as my dreams of her will undoubtedly for always
Go unfulfilled,
And it is a slick circuit, and a turning wheel,
And the potter’s clay is all ghosts,
And I am the irony of the opposing pre-Socratics,
Turning all at once into something that should
Never be repeated,
Getting nowhere all the time,
As the rivers flow in sheets of eyes where here eyes turn
Towards so banally,
And yet fierce, when her husband is away
Doing very important things I should not fail to
Mention.