Pornographic Mythologies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I think of orgasms and a guillotine;
When I deliver Christmas trees after ten pm.
I come back and joke with my friends,
And pretend I am their king-
The night rushes in grand insouciance, with no
Place really to go: I try to look them in the
Eyes as long as I can,
Until no one has anything left to say to me,
And I no longer have to think of how,
How she might even now rise like a leaping
Harem off to the east, dancing in a silver dress
The moon has placed, and long ago seeded
With the lesser gravities: I would like to imprint
Such romance there, amidst the tangles and
The man o’ war, but she just turns her face
Away from with me, with the time. Tired of
The sport, she covers up, until even my words
Become settled and homeopathic,
Like phosphorescent glitter in the brine,
The scattering of a destroyed penumbra haloes
The heads of her deeper pornographic mythologies.