My Art That Is So Imperfect Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now I feel like dancing, of opening up
Forever underneath the heirlooms
Of my sideshows,
Underneath all of these vanishing places
Where we have to be found out-
That we made love, and broke
Ourselves underneath the hapless sunlight:
Don’t you understand that
I decided to find you here, and so I
Found you here-
And it feels for awhile to become a bridal
Temptation:
But what are your children doing,
Even when sometime you are not home,
But leaving your body to think of me as I buy
You dresses underneath the rose gardens
Of the overpasses:
As I prey and make love to you while
I am alone on my weekend:
And I know nothing of moving making,
And this is just a scene that I am thinking back
Upon you,
As you lay there, opened mouthed- but
Very soon you will have to sunbathe for your
Family,
And then you will have to get up dancing,
Like a marionette- and this is a true love
Story- and your name is, Alma-
But my art is so imperfect, that the world
Will never know.