Going Away Going Nowhere Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Going Away Going Nowhere



Old new light over good sides of flesh
Sometime in the late early afternoon, washing
A piece: This is when the familiar strange traffic
Moves amongst the
Stop go shade; this is when nothing good moves,
When the intrinsic is sleeping like mollusks bivouacked
To the runny insides of quited sprinklers:
This is when all the childish teenagers are away getting
Drunk in some classes,
Or better truancies are shooting black cats out of
Coke bottles, and all that you never knew is happening
Outside the lisping windows; and light gets its hand on
Anything it can touch, and rightly increases the green
An inch. Maybe your hand fumbles for the glass,
Maybe your head rolls, marble or opal but unsure
Yet thoroughly tried: And this is what I’ve said I’d give
To you, a somnolent nod from the awakened empty neighborhood.
A lover of some lines who used to travel here, the ceiling
Fan moving overhead, going nowhere. Your blouse is
Well tucked in, and it feels like you are out in the middle of
A greatly unabashed sea. All the china and crystal are
Done and drying in the kitchen, but where are you moving
Nowhere- your navel is an instrument of the sea,
Plucked many years ago and not thought of until the spontaneity
Of the moment; another sheath whistles in the yellow,
And you lilt a little ways around the white fenced white,
But I have already gone away.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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