Feelings Of Our Mutual Lonliness Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I can still smell a muse’s perfume as it
Draped me away in the car,
As the old devil of satanic providence drove me
Away from her:
Up in the morning in the field of clattery bones
Where the poisons drip from
The mêlée of old friends who never got my letters:
Her eyes I remember, the brown water marks
OF a sincere abyss:
The absence of furniture across a living room
With a canal on one side of it:
You were still in Mexico while I was growing up,
And I wonder how many butterflies have come and gone
Since then.
Over my burning sugarcane, like poisonous love letters,
Only to die in your arid Bosque,
Felt up by the fingers of death who know so well
Our feelings of mutual loneliness.