The Body Of My Shell Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I toss my bottles of rum to cadaverous Mayflowers;
And she says that I am so cute because I reject her because of
Her scars and otherwise hermaphroditisms:
And then I sing out trilling: the spring gurgles and it is thrilling,
And the little girls have come back fully fledged from
Their billings:
And we have sold some fireworks, fireworks,
All the time while Erin, Erin was making love with her better and
Greater surplus of men:
Oh if I could have been this venal muse’s sort of man:
Oh if I could have stood up and declared my celibacy from shelves
Of her musings,
What a caravel this world might me: what a splendid light show
Mouthing off to the better pricks of the void;
But that is now how it was, and when I travel alone through the
Quieting witchcraft places in the more silver parts
Of New Mexico,
The only joy I find in the body of my shell, is that not so many fools
Will have to read these lies,
And I can always drink alone by myself.