On The Green Carpet Of I Don'T Care Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Scars, cars, and traffic signals,
And steps down:
Empty cities now, going into one thousand
Acre graveyards,
Going to where horses used to live and ate
The forest like entire cartons of cottage cheese:
And no one cared,
And if your legs are tall and sexy enough,
And how sweet I don’t know,
They can leap down the stairs how many
At a time?
And you can catch my paper airplanes right out
Of the mocking air,
And if you did this how so much I’d like to kiss
You and lounge with you on the green carpet
Of I don’t care;
And mother is upstairs right now talking on
The phone; and if she is a witch, she doesn’t
Believe it is true,
And I used to love her so, let me count the waves,
Ejaculate off the cigarette road coarse not very
Deep in the fronds of aloe:
And there are dunes where GI Joes sleep,
And canals to go leaping,
Many different ways to skip school;
And right now my father is driving a stallion far
Across the country, entering and exiting on the
Slick interstate in and out of all those cities:
And America is beautiful but only painted in so many
Colors,
And the lips are always blowing on the grass, and
Winnowing that kind of dress,
And good poets are always dying by forty,
Aren’t they?