In Tattered Pools Of Shrieking Glee Poem by Robert Rorabeck

When will these new scars die-
They cannot possibly outlive me, the silent
Unmovable fantasies of a graveyard’s soul:
All the little jewels half remembered in her flesh;
I like to think she will take just one more,
Down in the iceberg earth where the deeper
Parts of trees fish-
I would like to get drunk again and proposition
Her, but now there is a light turned on
And someone is coming down.
I should tell them I am not alive, that she is
Too beautiful to go untouched by me. Even now,
She sings she has room for one more sailor
In her wormy sea, almost as if she heard me stepping
In: that we shared the same mind, or that my soul
Was just a piece of her tapestry- She sings,
No one will remember you, but I will forever keep your
Body unto me; and we will make love under the
Busy fashions of the brighter afternoon above,
Where the traffic slurs and the hearts repeat, as if
Applauding something too great for them to certainly know;
And we will wait for them, and in unmoved exploration
You shall captivate me in your perfumed box that
Is a crib underneath the regular mobiles of ants and rime
Never to be exhumed; though, someday,
If my sorrows flood, won’t you come again bobbing in
The raiment of forgetful atmosphere, making them terrified
Of you once again, but a fine young man utterly ruined,
Cannibalized for my song in tattered pools of shrieking glee.