The Yellow Brickwork Of My So Young Tomorrows Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In a cave of Ganymede we have to rest our bones
And then everything after that is poolside
And not even fireside and I have to take a piss:
Why then I am only a peachy heirloom:
I am only an inflatable conquistador and I cannot proceed
And I rest awhile beside the sour tit of anywhere:
In the reststops inside the armpits of the peninsulas
Of anywhere
Squinting any old eye toward the whale to proceed
While underneath the sugar sheets of the airconditioning of
Shark bites it can go anywhere to proceed:
Pissing my pants for fireworks and for the pinafores of
All of Mexico and then for all of this anyway:
Just trying to cut my throats like stone just like all of the pinafores
Before all of the opened throats
Of the stone monuments who opened up ice-cream shops
Across the streets of our heretofore yesterdays
In the yellow brickwork of my so young tomorrows.