The Fleeting Luck In My Paper World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The earth turns out for you on your birthday,
Mountains flatten on their backs like flea bitten puppies,
Or risky cobras:
You can walk on their summits like carousing your fingers
Across the ridge lines of her areolas,
Like the perfect exhibits of the twin sisters of her
Natural symmetry while fat trucks drive by all night delivering
Their whiskies and goods to the various purple
Enclaves;
But the things around her really try, and they pace through the
Clearing houses of their perfumed foreclosures;
And when she puts cleats on over her high socks, she bites
Her lip and momentary forgets her husband
And each ounce of gravity across the terrible earth;
And she leaps and bounds like a story book of anxious young
Rabbits who momentary have found
All of the fleeting luck in my papery world.