Muse Never Of My Tomorrows Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Mammoth places of for-get-me-knots:
This is where the men metamorphose into cenotaphs,
And the conquistadors tried to call upon
The mermaids before stewardesses were
Even invented:
In an ancient bed of love that invented the mestizo
In fornications beneath the unutterable happenstance of
The jungled pyramids:
The history of my best muse—cannibalistic—
The human sacrifice that at its best uses the get away car—
A happy leopard,
With a tongue of amber making love to men on the
Outskirts, across the train tracks, only to
Go home to husband and take a knee—
This soiled pieta is the one I return to:
I once slept atop her next door neighbor’s roof
Underneath the primary colored helicopters—
Sacrificing so many artificial words and expensive
Bouquets—
A muse never of my tomorrows,
Always of my yesterdays