Our Slick And Breathy Dreaming Poem by Robert Rorabeck

What are these days doing, but jogging out
Again under windows, potbellied
Eating donuts, but climbing such ivy tresses
That you can see by the lights of dim sum sororities,
The hollow chested dogs stuck between the teeth
Of the cemetery;
And I am growing older; and I am growing all
Right, like a calendar while no one else looks at me,
While my great professors swell on the lakes of
Another woman’s dapper blushing;
While Diana turns around in a cul-de-sac where
I’d like to marry her like a ballerina blushing,
Pirouetting;
And we all have time to spend our time, hatched from
The zygotes of two bodies noshing;
And the world is a city; and the world is a void,
Smoking tires, riding far along the unperturbed blocks,
The gnarly, vast corrugates of alligators unreciprocating,
Looking so beautiful underneath the unctions and
Surfs of the moonlit satellites that we don’t even feel
The need to retrieve ourselves, but go down nearer the
Boggy earth suckling the pinecone coffins;
Putting ourselves belly to belly with the better and better
Ancestors, making ourselves last even some weeks
Even though we no longer have the parasols together of
Our slick and breathy dreamings.