One Or Two Muses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ve ejaculated into the summits of those mountains
But never into their tears:
Far too high for casual angels,
For romances of chocolate and bouquets,
Where the wetness comes down as the sharpness of
Lightning caught at that starboard pinnacle,
Refracted of the bleeding nosecones of some worry-
Lipped Airplanes
Far above the drooping heads of tourists who
Never had a problem licking their sweet corpulence from
All those mirrors,
Perfecting bobcats:
I haven’t been able to look at myself straight since middle-
School,
And that is why I climb, and that is why I miss my dogs;
And drink this time
Waiting for the returns of my echoes from the lips
Of one or two muses, that I am already sure have no possibility
Of resounding.