Looking Good Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now I am looking good-
Now, I am your man, and I want to f-
And I’m in Spain, just a boy
Drinking sangria with my aunt in Catalonia,
Looking at the lady in the stones of the
Bay across the rippled silver of Port Boa:
Cross me, be my rood, be my stewardess,
Be my goody-good:
Love me, lick me, stamp me, stick me:
Whatever I am doing now, I doing good,
And the entire early autumn hemisphere over
My burry head is its own kind of Mobile,
Turning, turning without a hitch-
Looking at the brilliant serpents handicapped bodied
Down in the ditch:
They are evil, and they hell, and they will take us
By the hand straight to the principal;
And I love you, and I’m warm,
And in my head there’s an entire swarm;
And the courtyard is red bricked and palmed,
And there is so many ways down with vodka and dynamite-
The extra chromosomes of extra midnight;
And thank you for having me, out in the balmy lunchtime
Theatre: I’ve sharpened my butter knife and I’ll fight
To be your wife,
Fight to tie tight your spells trackside just west of the
Parking lot’s dinner bells: Someone keyed my car,
Someone didn’t like me;
I don’t car who they are; let the strike straight out
In the bullsh&t carnival, and the kitchens sail brightly:
I am a wheel running under you, steer where you’d like to
Go somewhere sandy, hyperbolean- show me where
You take you other men, silver-bowled;
Let me metamorphosis again into a sheet metal knight
To press your lips again, reddish smears,
Stamped in monarchal wax of a newly family tree, secretive,
Give your soul and body straight and pure to me; throbbing,
Strumming, with newly strung filament humming,
Turn around and without blinking give it all to me.