Gorgeous hoodlums, who are you:
I’ve seen you walking around in the zoo with
Brilliant stockings and nothing else on except
For your drunk smiles and ray guns;
And your cities are so complex, but you don’t
Give a d$mn, but stand out and air
Your window dressings,
And you accept just about any drinks offered to
You, and any rooms:
I would like to pour a glass of cheap rum for you,
And make you show me your profile for just
A little while, and pretend you’re anyone,
Even if you were born in another country,
Or even if I will continue this slopping down into
The flooding insouciance of a Catholic graveyard,
Because that is where we’re all going,
And the dug graves are filling up like a mud bath,
And it’s a pitter-patter through the eves, when beyond
All the iron bars, the windows of better situated romances
Are all closed and occupied,
But I’ll love you here all the same, out in the wild where
The exhausted socialized recline anonymously
Finishing what they started:
And I’ll grab you just beneath your garter like something
From the sea, and grow my great big trees inside of you,
And put new ribbons in your hair,
Making you remember if not my name who I am.
Robert Rorabeck
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/pornographic-drunken-heresy/
