The Other Side Of The Earth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I do not want to lay down upon you again,
As if the resin of a petrified cornea, this disgusting
Sap of my aping ventriloquism,
Another apocryphal psalm barefoot and asthmatic
Walking fretfully though across the well-tread
Path of the earliest explorers who out from their shells
Bathed in fires and the fertile rime eddying in roots of lime and sea,
Who call each wave mother as if in a herd of plumed
Cervix never dazzled by the encroachment of
Sun through shade, the limpid curtains sacrificed
To the lips of vaporous angels;
A monkey with spangled cymbals wishing to emulate
Those masters for the leavings of their meals,
Or to encroach upon his fury mug the relaxations of
Her Siamese mollusks, those insects called lips
Yet metamorphosed, though when awakening trough
Up the remnants of unconscious desire- To do this
For her with my levers, to excavate love through the
Subtleness of opposable flesh bathed and christened
From her yawning stems: I am trying to go about this,
Unpublished and unrecognized, not given a chance to
Be misunderstood, leaping through rings of anguish for
Her, mimicking the calls of those insurmountable brothers,
The very cliffs where the current winds up perplexed though
Laughing, and there to lay in shivering tidal pools,
Hurrying to collect the tight and chastised flesh, before the
Tugging maiden withdraws her curtsey once more, leaving me once
More to fill my mouth with sand, the dissolutions of those cliffs,
Trying to expose holistic reason from the brush of her
Disinterested tresses, as she walks down the aisle of sunset
To be wed to a far distant man on the other side of the earth.