Impotent Musings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

-ucked up despotic universe burnished
In cruel despotic time,
You’ve really got it in for me,
Given me the bad-luck of dysfunctional rhyme,
Slouching shoulders and drooping
Mustache,
Two good legs to the liquor store to dash
To pick up my clichés of state college,
Bastioned in hemispheres of unpublished knowledge:
And she’s a fan of my impotent implementation,
And I would like to make her the first mother
Of my impotent nation,
And send all my faux politicians over to her auburn brow
So she can crown them each with the head of
The cow of my semi-pulp benediction-
The fair movie is over and I didn’t even listen;
I didn’t kick my old woman like Bukowski,
I didn’t worship the splendid grave in splendiferous mood
Like Baudelaire; Perhaps I rhymed a little bit like
Lindsay; Perhaps I am too gray to care:
The lovers are still young from talk and tongue-
I haven’t spoken to anything since the dinosaurs,
And this is just the impotent rush of spell of impotent spikenard-
I am not even going to get on the bus,
Because I am too tired and burned out to love a good woman;
I wouldn’t know how to begin- All my muses are venal,
Lock-jawed in marching bands of handsomer and more
Important men.