The Truths Poem by Robert Rorabeck

People in their getups worrying about their
Setups;
And I just want to be a child kicking the sky on
The swings;
This is the only way to make the day go by,
And I wonder if in their aquariums, how much change
Do the fishes dream;
And it is romantic to think of you, to push my lashes
Into the prams of your unforcasted children,
To make a crèche of my soul out in the parking lot
Of your church’s grottos:
Fully scarred with bushels full of fireworks,
And the airplanes swinging low like acrobats at my
Command,
Like the truancies out in the yards drinking alcohol in
The middle of the school day,
This is how my seeming soul goes about swimming:
This is how I abolish myself minutes before my day gone
Dreaming;
And then I think of wonderful walls and girls with
Long flaxen hair falling,
And cabbages and rabbits, and eggs hatching- In worlds where
Everything can speak,
In habitats that my leafy gills are breathing playing tennis
And short-skirted sports back and forth across
A super-teal television:
And there are girls I love I don’t know anymore, or I have never
Known:
There are girls still stuck up in college or budding their
Families in the snow in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado,
That I masturbate to to perceive, that I beat myself,
And they come alive like butterflies over midnight seas,
Flaming from the estuaries where my ancient capillaries breath,
And despair like clockwork through
The skeletons and wine;
And still I would skip school at anytime, and throw myself into
The game of make-believe,
To make sure that you win and that you too believe;
And we can both close our eyes far atop the red diamonds of these
Eyes that go on forever like red trains into the night,
The truths that don’t have to be spoken to be known that they
Are right.