The Thoughts You Have Never Thought To Know Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You have that much money to die
Easily in the civil wars of Spain, right at the
Spot where I got my scars,
Where I left off and became alone, and didn’t
Worry about becoming popular;
And now I just look out my windows waiting for
The cloud to come over the virgins in the
Shape of the grim reaper,
So that you can have me rung awakened from your
Dinner of green lobsters;
And finishing, I suppose I was never made;
And I was shot dead today all alone in a park in
Lake Worth crowded with African Americans and
Latinos where one time more than a baker’s dozen of
Years ago, I saw Kelly at the renaissance festival with
The alligators and platinum larks;
And I went with the girl I lived with and became a
Scholar with,
And now she is just beneath me, married on a more
Salient hemisphere;
And love is slowing me down; so you could catch me
At last, if you weren’t indeed married
And happier in Colorado; and it is very strange and
Dreamy becoming your friend;
And I am not beautiful, and yet I am not betrayed by
Your perfectly still beauty; and I cast you
In the overcast carports of my youth, in things you will
Never experience, across the street from the cenotaph of
My conquistadors and classical pornographies;
And, Sharon, don’t I love you;
But I am very strange, indeed; and I am not very easily loved,
But I very easily bleed;
And in my pale wounds lie the almost colorless desire
To be nourished and sustained by the thoughts
You have never thought to know.