Painted Enigma Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You hurt me so much,
And this is not your bouquet,
Because now
I am peeing like a goldfish
Through the
Drain-storms of goldfish where
You don’t
Care to happen anymore:
I happen to be touching myself
Like the open mouths of
Watermelons
At a party of neighborhoods;
And I seem to be
Spoiling like the tears of
Chalk
Through the tear eyed afternoons
Unrecognizable concrete:
But this is just another
Word,
Another ghost:
Painting itself into the sidelines,
As I am here,
Touching myself- as I manage to
Become,
Another painted enigma-
Another specter, panting besides
The daily walks of its pavements besides
What, exactly- I suppose,
It was supposed to become.