The Cenotaphs Of My Heart Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I fail and it never again feels like football:
But the airplanes rattle with their serious desire to get
Away and in the bordellos
Underneath their exegesis I swim alone in my manifolds:
I pirouette and turn around and
Remember by sister and how many times it took,
And the lucky rabbits feet that it took to
Bribe her;
And now it will never rain again, while my words spill like
Drool over the bibs:
And the houses of relocated Mexicans swim and swim;
And Alma sleeps in her house over the shoulders of the dog
Tracks and the trains;
So soon I will lose my anchors and my liver,
And I will swim too: I will float right over the barrels of
Her house as I proceed: I will sleep like a deflated saint
There atop the apexes of her heartbeat
Or other words for the matter, while ships increase in the dark
Waters where she cannot swim: but she will survive
Anyways, culled from the cenotaphs of my heart:
My vida will surive, with or without me:
With or without him.