The Pornographies Of Fast Food Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Speakeasies in the wombs of pleasure,
And brownness in Alma’s eyes:
It seems so joyfully dangerous as I talk about her
When I sleep,
When my stanzas drool, and the bats blow like leaves:
And all of the scary movies feel so soft
And my body gets warmer and warmer holding inside
Its play land of ovens:
I blush over the things that I have forgotten, as the cats
Leap the roofs
Searching for cannons or conquistadors,
The fireworks laying spent and untroubled beside the
Sleeping venoms in the ditches;
And the only thoughts I carry up again for you
Are of the pornographies of fast food, as all of my life
Is bleeding or spindling like confetti stripped in
A fair
So happily and away.