Through The Darkly Lactating Combs Of My Night Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The rains have a good time falling down,
And I have bought a house and this month is
My birthday.
Right now I am still homeless with a cup of store
Brand rum between my legs
And my mother bending herself in the bathroom
Next door
While all of the night is outside curling up against
The broadways of canals,
The fleeted souls jumping the trains and abutments
Over the running lips of waves:
And it gets colder the further up you go, but the
More gods you see anyway:
I will soon be moving into a warm cottage, and will not
Have to mind all the teachers who accused me
Of plagiarism:
Even the Riviera Beach Police Department will be
Publishing me for the crimes I have helped to solve:
And now my mother is indoors again,
And I can feel the throbbing of the moon’s penumbra
Against these walls,
Repeating like another two lovers with their backs
Pressed against the fire hydrants all ready and super salient
Through the darkly lactating combs of my night.