My Version Of The Cartography Of Your Heavens Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I contemplate for a second how beautiful
You are; I sneak into empty movie theatres
To see its true;
I masticate on the rinds of an imperishable world-
I do all these things that are left better misunderstood,
And your cities are the quiet place s kept
On hooks,
And nothing is told my your lips that can’t
Be promised;
And I’m doing it again tonight, failing in my
Anonymous way, my version of the cartography of
Your heavens;
I’ve finally dropped out of school and tight-roped
Across the canal to figure out what is real.
I am having real liquor to perform this feat. I am
Writing so quickly,
Hoping that they will call me Henry when I am dead,
And resurrect everything that was never appreciated
In spindling monuments- They can just be clouds
As long as they hold your breath,
And I can continue alluding to you forever from the
Grave.