The Forever Wild Flowers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Panhandles filibuster, and I am no longer sure of where
I am now:
The silent creeks buddy together and sound so little like
The way I’ve spent time
By myself in the corner of the classroom before
Leaving school and getting drunk and returning:
Figuring out the words are only waves,
Coming in again, silently but with so much motion, the
Recreations of the past gods,
The failures of all of the current things, and even though
We all have our own houses,
How can we recognize the song while the virgins are all deep
In their grottos,
And all of our kings have kissed the lips of their undefeatable
Monsters and thus are sleeping beneath the forever
Beautiful and forever wild flowers of their
Immortal graves.