Your Long List Of Pretty Things Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Homeless in the low hanging clouds,
Baseball players without any clothes; and I don’t
Know where this is going,
Except to the inevitable whore house;
And you are in Colorado and this is my banjo
Hoping to echo all the way up to your basin,
And be clear enough for you to distinguish me from the
Other tourisms;
But enough for tonight, and enough for so long;
I can’t really remember you, and this ain’t our song:
This is just the memory of the exact moment of when I
Decided to leap out of school:
I leapt straight out of the window, sure that you were watching
Me, and hoping that you thought I was cool:
While the sun cheered and then the moon beamed, and I
Swept on the swings on into crepescule, trying so hard not
To believe in another single one of your long list of pretty things.