The Greater Mythology Of My Lonely Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Cars in the jungle of naked women,
One breasted and highly heroic, their kings made
Up of jaunting men in fine suits,
I sleep in their driveways and gentle abutments:
I steal their pies, and kissed them once or twice.
I went to school with them in an upper middle-class
Fairy-tale,
But I still want to see them again, and tongue them with
Romance if I can-
First by their pools, for they all have at least one
(as as rule)
They are all like little toy Indians in high class wigwams,
Each of a sorority corded of by
Their religions: sweet, sweet bitter sweet memories
How my words fail them,
Merry-go-rounds in the rain with my little sister
In the concluding portions of a misunderstood novel;
She gives me free beer, and I go piss on the grounds of
The best university in Florida;
She still lives there, but she hasn’t yet joined them:
She hasn’t yet decided upon them man which will fulfill her
Destiny,
Though she has already fulfilled mine:
The eyes of my earth,
The lips of my earth,
The breasts and legs and all the senses of my earth;
The greater mythology of my lonely sea, I should say her name,
But I have already failed her, homeless and barefoot,
I travel by the perfumes of her divine providence;
I should say her name,
But she already knows what grand amusement she is to me.