The Fake Diamond Tabernacles Of Being Your Friend Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ve been doing it so wrong, needing more
Liquor to propagate my unwholesome song, going the
Long ways around my lake, around the river,
Feeding my liver to the fish and
Garden snakes:
Now this is a topiary of missing parts, the stones so
Beautiful as to bring art running, but making as
Little sense as another pagan revolution:
And I’ve been crying out the names of the girls in the rain,
Wanting to play in their baseball diamonds:
Wanting it to transcend before school, before all of this
Started out so it wouldn’t have to end:
And this is broken and weary: it doesn’t even cost a dollar
Either, to see how I will die.
Maybe Erin thought of me today, while she felt his evil spears
Up and down the world,
What he’d been singing, lying in bed with his girlfriend
Two stories above a pool of yellow lesbians;
And now the cat doesn’t even know that this is going to have to
End:
I want to love your senses clear: I want to do chores for you,
Or have a truce and compromise- defeated, I could be mollified
Into the fake diamond tabernacles of being your friend.