Tumbler’s Eden Poem by Robert Rorabeck

There is not much light
Anymore in the garden-
The cats are almost over the fence,
But why should it matter where they
Are going?
I never owned but these scars,
A crescendo of lines seeming comical
But ending up disastrous,
Her perfect body which fades from too much
Jesting with alcohol-
The yeast doesn’t rise,
What we had for dessert a fiasco, and even the
Pressurized gazes of the fraternity turn inward
And sodden-
Waves are butchers and
I put down the pen: I don’t have it in me
Anymore,
The rose is looking downward.
The serpent doesn’t have any knowledge
To speak of.