Of Our Utterly And Illusive Tomorrow Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Of Our Utterly And Illusive Tomorrow



The savage packages are day-gone, even without
The numerations of your envelops,
And I drink rum and think of a marionette while
Trying to be politically correct and a
Best name for him—
Maybe I will have to send you back to China tomorrow—
While the cabbages shrink into roses—
And the days of our honeymoons relapse into
The animals we were yesterday—
Anyway this is the joy I could not bring you to tomorrow—
And the lamplight sounds through the depths
Of the sad distance as I reach out grasping for your
Hand that is too far away from me
And you will go on to enjoy the sad head rooms as
If this were another matter of the make-believes of
Tomorrow—
As the city stretched out its panalopy to display its
Vanguards of our utterly and illusive tomorrow.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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