How You Might Cry For Me Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Oh god- why even try to record what I m doing:
If I am failing as the sky is looming then what, of what am I doing:
In the prettily worded lips of high school,
While the city bastions, whole the monkeys rest their wings momentarily upon
The doorstep of our haloes of what we are doing then I have
Nothing left to prove: Sharon, deep and ancient Sharon, my sick
Muse,
I am really worried, because I am thinking that with your body you haven’t
Been down into the ancient and luscious throat of the grandest of canyons
And only if I could take your hand and make love with you far
Past the voyages of our savagely honest and vulgarly promised land,
I would find you sleeping with the sharpest of instruments who kept, e
From
Breathing: Sharon:
Sharon, aren’t I dreaming, to find you bared naked near the shore:
Sharon, aren’t you reading these little pedestals arrested out in the bare
Naked center of this clay cemetery;
And if I should continue then it would just be just one footstep before
Another, Sharon;
While I am drowning in your sea, lost and beautiful, without a single
Hoping thought of how you might cry for me.