Ginless Sin Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Sucker entrepreneur
Bring your lords to the dump-
Underneath the sea gulls’ teeth
Lay your frumping frump
Up that fat mountain gilded with
The city’s pride,
Sack your wife and carry your bride,
And hang over the cars of
Bangless joy, raise your men into boys,
Those girls who are toys.
Sense the fumes of you rusting guns,
Take their money
And invest their funs,
While the world goes over to the other side
Of righteous philanthropy of whipping
Storefronts,
Collect the gold and burry the c%nts,
While the sea rolls beaten down,
And all the nights dropp to town-
You are pretty, you are sure,
And with the deadly artist forgotten,
Her world is yours-
But what world is yours
If she has been dragged out of the sea,
Made to wash your windows which advertise
Nothing but
The awfulness of everything that you can
Think to sell:
But the penultimate rhyme will send
You to hell
Where you can set up again, caracoled
By ginless sin;
And sell, sell, sell.