Like The Cartoon Leaving The Eyes Of A Kindergartener Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Your gloves in the room of tilt a whirls, so what
About this arcade inhabiting the things that you’ve made:
It is just as easy for my muses to be breathing in
Colorado,
Catching the first golden affixes of the sun, and all of the
Possibilities of our children riding in his chariot and laughing:
I was never surer that I should be the father of your children,
And that we should name him after the both of
Our fathers,
After Mexico and America, and the newest unions of the greatest
Possibilities that no one likes to admit;
The recreations of my lips upon your flesh never felt so good,
Until you had to go, like a cartoon leaving the eyes of
A kindergartener,
Or something more unsuspecting I could never even remember
To forget.