Such Troubling Things Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I drink so much liquor that I find that I can
Only climax with my special someone; but she is at home
In bed right now:
Who is she dreaming about, the purple flowers in my
Green restaurants wonder:
And what is on the television: as the waves come, dying to make
Peace,
As the ends of the earth are taken off into their lips
As if in a great amusement underneath where the bellies of the
Airplanes bask,
And the dreams of the little boys, like grapes from her loins,
Reach up so far, uttering fabulous prayers of the richest sorts:
And words that I fear that I cannot even describe;
As the sisters of my muse bundle again to school: as I prepare to
Leave her to sell other things,
And the nights get further on, even undressing the clothes that
They don’t have; and the only consolation is that
The soul of my muse- My Alma- doesn’t have to worry about
Such troubling things.