The Aphorisms Of The Damned Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ll go off the path for you;
I’ll piss in the shadows and howl you
Name, but not just on holidays.
I wonder where you went on your honeymoon.
I used to go anywhere on the mountain,
But now I stick to the paths in the changing weather.
Last time I went up her, my mother and I picked
And ate wild strawberries-
Her glades have always made me think of
Beautiful women, such as you- succulent and foraged
Upon by all the little children,
Even as your daughter tugs upon your breast.
I have sick dreams where you read me in your store,
But I’m no good at writing prose- Or even this,
I’ve found that out- I am no revolutionary,
Even with all these scars; and though you might
Think sometimes about me, put us together in a room
With a better looking marine, and see who gets the
Attention- I already know; and that is why I am
Stuck here, picking the tiniest of violet flowers.
We all know what they have come up from, the genus
Of corpses, but we don’t like to talk about it,
The aphorisms of the damned; but you will always be
My Disney World. And I can remember how you looked
At me silently in a mock café underneath space mountain.
I thought it was because you were condemning me
For doing acid, but maybe it was because you loved me;
Or most likely, you weren’t even there.