Robert Rorabeck

(04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Poems of Robert Rorabeck

Appomattox

In bed with the early morning shadows
bleeding the night into another killing
where glorious colors like afterbirth flows
in nebular jets into the horizon’s bowl,
revealed, I have the presentiment that my
life will fail, and rising against my Northern
dreams, I secede against their human impulse
of hope, and the cities inside me scream,
“You will never have her. She will never love you! ”

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