So Much Love Poem by Robert Rorabeck

We are not taking it easy with the bottle:
We are smelling like a hitchhiking artist that moves closer
To the forests of Alma’s bone structures;
It makes things easier to cut away the unnecessary plots,
Like Occam’s razor along the ribs of a boneless shark
As she sleeps dead center in the sunken
Car ports:
That this is love, Alma, and it means so much more to me
That you never even made it up to college,
That you didn’t have to disappear that way into the specters
Of the professions of the unreal,
That I can still find you sweating perfectly and almost
Naked out in the open fields:
That you cannot even remember kindergarten or how you got
Here,
But looking into your eyes there is so much faith,
And all of the arid bemusements of your land that knows the
Witchcrafts of your ancestors and curses me with
So much love.