The Ventures The Ventures They Need To Survive Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Unkindled, a word waiting for no return:
An empty bottle, rolled beside a church that has no following:
Words that are flat like leftover snakes,
Bushes that landscape an empty graveyard;
And it snows in cutout paper over cowboys who arent
Really dying; and who have never traveled across
Texas:
But it is alright, because you are up in your car, venturing to
And from a university,
Long since broken free of my hapless plague- Like a detective
Without any addition glues, I roam mindlessly-
Like a butterfly assured of the freaks of joy:
The houses making monuments to their little wives.
And everything accumulating and taxing onwards, so promising
In the ventures they need to survive.