Somewhere Near The Apex Of The Greater And More Somnolent Onward Desert Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Drunken cathedrals, this is what you do to me,
Keep me dry for a very little while
And then letting in the rains as
You hum for me;
And, oh my god, I cant believe I was just with
That girl,
Younger than my little sister underneath the plane
That so very recently some trigger-happy scientist figured
Out was round;
And now we swing in ellipses; we swing and come without
A sound,
And I wonder what her apartment looks like;
I think that it should look like a snow white Christmas,
With so many coats and furs of animals
That no longer exists, or that should never have existed;
Tonight, I made love to an incredible creature
Which was like a defeated fable underneath the playground
Of those fabulous inventions of man which
Go forever onward over-leaping the playgrounds of this
Earth,
Holding their breath, maybe experiencing harmony,
Until once or twice again their wings touch down, like
Butterflies migrating through a truck stop in Texas,
Warming to their comrades and yet perceiving that their bright
And yellow death lies somewhere nearer the apex of
The greater and more somnolent onward desert.