Loneliness Of A Swell Diatribe Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Honeycombed in the loneliness of a swell diatribe,
My heart is half empty and a long
Ways from home-
And, if you’ve slept in all three of my beds,
How come you still have
A hard time kissing my mouth or holding
My hand-
And you still won’t be here with me, as the ghosts
Float across the earth of tattered waves-
And it all seems like a golden coil of a serpent
Echoing- echoing over the wishes of
A sacrifice:
As the gravitational pull of a lonely satellite coaxes
The waves again over
Her exhausted body between the mangroves-
There seems to be a twist in the plot of her roots,
And a Barrett in her hair- snowshoe crabs
In her eyes-
As she remembers that her wishes are gone,
And this is how she spent her honeymoon-
Loneliness of a Ferris Wheel without any friends
And with nothing to believe in:
The no longer distant curl of death sneers her lip- as another
Woman has been making room in her house-
As her wishing wells are cleaned with bleach- and all of
Her penny candy stolen by kids on bicycles-
So her zoetrope doesn’t have to turn anymore-
The extinction of a species never thought about by
Television,
Like seahorses underneath the caesuras- or latchkey
Children underneath the monuments of
Another thing I don’t have time to forget anymore.