Robert Rorabeck

(04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Until Another Man Called You Home


Almost all poets end up drinking and then
Hopping one legged into the corners of death to
Emote their love
To the spiders busily sewing their threads above
The overgrown jungles
Of the slaves of love; and I found you and picked you
Like flower somehow while I was turning around
In a ride so far away:
I felt you upside down as you ran to me, and your brown
Fingers curled into mine like reindeer lying down
Into snow:
Your eyes became so young and overgrown with the amber
Of a Spanish lycanthropy,
And my words the words of sailors drowning, half born
To a world in chaos typing,
The plumes of giants the gods came slaughtering;
And I fell beneath you, and you became a beautiful forest
Slicked with the favorite colors of your soul;
And we drove hand in hand, Alma, until another man
Called you home.

Submitted: Tuesday, August 17, 2010

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