The Water Parks Of Pure Happenstance Poem by Robert Rorabeck

A sheet of paper killed the emperor,
And put the old girlfriends into a peaceful sleep
For the
Butcher to do his work; it fed the lions any old
Soda-jerk so their comely fleeces were mottled with rosy
Bits and blushing pieces-
Waking them up from the tranquility of the flock,
It forced the hands backwards on the skeleton clock;
Off work, it got me drunk, and made me look
Such a hunk, on amusing swings under
Deciduous trunk- The house was a galvanized shadow
Into which us truants liked to flunk;
And, taking aim, I picked her off with roman candles from
The roof,
Giving greedy alligators such luscious, cheering proof.
I made her remember who I am, with just a gentle
Cursive of my hand-
It smelled of eloquence and marble ham, and laid the
Somber bouquet on her mowed bed, a perfume for sand lions
And saddle ants; it brushed its fingers across the spindled
Hips of new romance, and captivated intelligence around
The Sea of France which it filled out of the water parks of
Pure happenstance; it read in burrish twists,
There will be consequence, and charmed the eyes of all
The strangers transmogrifying them into telescopic lovers,
Serving girls with dishes of unspoken palaver, each mute syllable
A generous portion of inkish slather,
So in gentling tongues wish to abolish her apoplectic indifference,
Laid out in a bedroom of libraries, ate her oyster and cupped her
Cherries,
Took her down the riddled cataract, proposed to her and stuffed
Her in a gunny sack for the garish moon and unlucky heavens to
Harp upon, as across the insensitive earth,
Pouting kisses, granting meaningless wishes, galloped her home
To straighten my stacks and do the dishes.