Like A Delicious Plague Of Roses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Aloneness with the stageless skies,
Where are you going alone from this house:
I have painted a chalk road for you to leave
By,
And the weather is crippling the apple orchard,
Ruining my pastels-
Your maker has put a heart into your chest you
Will not sell until it is condemned by
A prettier love, and you have to:
And your children sleep like the presents of
Hypnotized chickens: where are they going all done
Up and trained to suppose,
Making their attempts at pie on their bunny slopes;
And they go down and afterwards the smoke
Signals rise,
Like tears steaming from the jungles of your thighs;
And I suppose I haven’t spoken things
I didn’t have to: And still you are all rosy cheeked
And good enough to star in your first movie;
The lobes of your ears are very Christian, listening
To conches snoozing in their libraries:
And I imagine you in the school you were kicked out of,
And all your beauty blooms like a delicious plague
Of roses,
Savagely red and too deep for our friendship to take
Advantage of.