That I Still Want You For A Bride Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I can smell you down here even if you don’t
Really exist,
Children in boxcars- runts in shoeboxes;
And my head has a great apoplexy and it has been half
My life since I’ve really broken into a house;
And then I didn’t do anything but piss in anonymous rooms
And steal quarters and hide pieces of
Cake up and down the stairs; and I got whippings and I masturbated
And leapt many feet over the canal;
And I huffed clouds painted up like working girls that knew how
To dance for so many shapes;
And the world took form, and became foremost of all of these planets;
And its brother Mars was jealous and set off to make great
Science-fiction, but it was all disproved,
So even the greatest authors happened to disappear up the ski lifts
Going into the whiteouts of Telluride and the fact that every snowflake
Is just as unique as man’s finger prints was never disproved,
But it helped to solve crime
While it remains quite plain that I still want you for a bride.