Many Bouquets Of Amen's Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Once again I am here and on a perch:
I am not even in Colorado,
My mother’s birthplace- but I am here again-
Trying to figure out what her armpits
Smell like once again
While I am alone
And this is just another came beneath the summit
After all of high school has let out;
And I’ve been trying to hold my head up like some
Kind of pride-
Like a heavily budded rose before its numbers
Busily multiplying-
Just as like the ambrosia of the bull pens across the
Armpits of all of Mexico:
Why, then, this just seems as if the heavier
Steps of another’s dreams:
Why, just- the fireworks don’t even seem to survive
Anymore, but it all becomes
As sort of anonymous happenstance:
Really soon it will be Christmas, and I am not
Really sure entirely what I’ve been exactly talking about:
But there she swings again- my muse, underneath the
Amber hallucinations of all of the clouds:
She seems to be making her special way here again,
Just as I seem to be opening up to her,
Folding my hands together like a dinnertime of crèches
And kissing and blessing her and
]Giving to her my many, many bouquets of amen’s.