Saturn's Jewel Incrusted Rings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Saturn's Jewel Incrusted Rings



Here I come gunning for you,
Calling for the middle-class hemispheres to coalesce,
Only because I am without any other justified cause:

You who tried to cease my years,
Twice in a thri-fold decade,
In my teens and into my thirties, high-school
Superiors double-blinded by jaundiced Catholicisms,
Only because you were without any other
Haunts- you cater to the offspring
of the presupposed elites.

And it doesn't matter that I have increased
My revenues far above your classrooms,
Or that I have already told my children stories
About so many countless Pegasus's,
Flying fearless heroes to all of the victories
far above your demons.

Or that by my dirtied plagiarisms,
And by my hidden markets, I have eclipsed you:
You who are already seem secured into your retirements-
Looking outside of your nefarious classrooms,
You who seem secured by the diatribes of your retirements:

Pegged into the systems of smiling republics,
And waving your trinket flags,
Hemmed into the indifferential treatments of your early applauses;
I am the boy who haunts your would have been golden years:

See me taking down the numbers before your eyes.

I am angry, and in my way I am a poltergergiest:
Helium balloons taking pictures above the swollen boudoirs of
Venal mermaids and werewolves,
Dissolving the love affairs of far too different of animals:

Here I am, and I am not done:
You fired me without cause just after my first child was born.
My last paycheck was over four times what the state was paying me,
And more than you ever made:
(and we who were equal servants of a servile state:
you never possessed me- and you never equaled what you
pretended to be worth.)


Sure, I have to make up my first angel anew everyday;
But, as you can see, I am not yet done with my writing of halfway beautified
Things- she is irresistible when conjured, whilst you never once got started;
Something I have known and loved found a way to survive swimming around
In the ineffective putridity of your hemispheres:

Now I live in the shallows of the Carribeans,
And I burn during the daylight hours, like candles making love to the vanished gods,
Hyperventilating into the spaces that you have never perceived.
And into the winnowed classes I do more than survive:

I will piss on your grave.
I will write the next great American novel.
I will be Mark Twain, leaving public school at twelve years old.
I will travel across the country and dig for silver.

I am currently worth.5 million.
You do not know who I am. I will dig up your worth and mine it,
And add it to my dragon's sack.
I cum all over you, and in the twilights of your wishing wells,
To which you have never stayed up late enough to ponder,
I will fondle your loved ones,
And make them mine: and take them to the mountains and kiss them.

Because in the morning, this is mine.
And your gravestones will collapse into the knees of cenotaphs-
And you will perish like a decrepit Mickey Mouse into a rotting Disney world-

I hold a flower out to the stars.
I am published and in the stacks of Harvard and Oxford;
Though I deserve the highest echelons -

See me fighting with my sword
And jacking off.
500 people read my poems everyday.
5000 people ready my poems on Sundays.
And when they are done creaming and making love,
I place your skulls back into their graves:
In fact, I drive all over you-

I frightened you and so you released me from your system,
But while you beheld me, I drove unforgettable moments,
Tattooed into arteries of your febrile systems.

I could have loved your poorly,
but you caved into the haunts of your masters,
And so you made me hate you richly,
circling from the frozen vantage points of Saturn's
jewel incrusted rings.

Tuesday, August 23, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: love
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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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