Just One More Last And Perfected Viewing Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I drink to the bereavement of windows and
Airports
Because this is just where I am going as I am about to
Fall asleep:
Even my very mother wasn’t beautiful enough to
Presuppose me,
And this is my drug:
And this is my plan, to swing out sweet footed straight above
The sure promised land.
To make love to myself as a presupposition,
To give all the banished playgrounds back to the sweating
Womb of my underground grandmother;
As Kelly sweats away her days next to the underground sea,
Just a creature in the first level of
The dungeon that was promised to me: Just a lady bug on
A petal weeping in spring,
While the trucks twirl their new engines entwined with the
Gases of their long lost loves,
So too do I keep to myself, and keep weeping for her as the rivers
Awaken in spring and peel down the mountainside and
Do their thing;
As they are waking up, so too dose my dove,
For she is busy weeping as she cannot fly high enough
Up the skirts of my another mountain to see what
I have perceived: Kelly, you are very fine, and you are waking up,
And this is my world naked and divine and pure
As the opalescent pornography as unmarketable as the
Time you closed your eyes and dreamed up me,
What silly backwards thing, like climbing up against the paths
That you have already breathed; but they were already so
Beautiful that your naked patriotism allowed them
Once again into the showrooms of your unadulterated mind
For just one more last and perfected viewing.