Nothing can be wounded eternally- <br />Eventually, left out in the cold it dies: <br />It dies and sinks quite peacefully into the sea; <br />It grows sedentary, unseemly irate- it takes up law, <br />And fails to appreciated the high stamens of <br />Stewardess’ flirtations on the busy crafts of their show; <br />But I keep on doing this as my some sort of <br />Dysfunctioning reveille: <br />I salute all my pitiful paper crafts to the fashion of <br />Your warm body pressed against his, <br />Drinking rummy bouquets- I suppose he has never <br />Done this for you, <br />Trying to drink your contractual immortality, <br />Or driven alone and screamed halfway across the mortality <br />Of our patriotisms: <br />And I am a wreck, but looking down the coral is so beautiful <br />It is not a pain to die: <br />And I will die for you- Bare the brunt of his spume, <br />And all that reckless wealth busily wasted to persuade your <br />Heliotropic demons- I still love you underneath the effluvious <br />Buses, <br />And I have summated mountains for you, and realized the <br />Bastardization of his angels- and grown more distant and more <br />Scarred for you: <br />And I have grown to appreciate lightning storms and pearl handled <br />Firearms- tucked into the double entendre of your silk purse; <br />And I would dam the Atlantic for you, <br />Or flood the Pacific across our manifest destiny, and put two <br />Mammals of each sex behind each kiss pressed into your adultery, <br />So stop selling what you consider news, <br />And look to me, <br />I who am wealthy and amused.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/wealthy-and-amused/
