Convictions Of Dawn Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dark dreams and intercourse-
The highway is empty except for you
Driving into the cities, but the sea beholds all,
And the night is busy hiding its addictions;
There is the salt leaking through
The crack in the window, as the radio sizzles;
Off the avenues the metric pleasure
Seesaws beneath the bangs of palm trees,
Where tawny alley-cats leap to and from
Their ochre nests, purr and clean;
They have relocated the heart of the homeless
Stonemason, who built her a sundialled fortress
Of coral slab fingerprinted in his blood,
But she never sailed to him,
And in the high rises of the anonymous night
Her banshee still tosses the fluted bones,
Dissatisfied by the room service and tiny bottles of liquor;
She falls from the balcony successively,
Only to finder her loneliness butchered again
In white sheets of innocence she does not recognize,
The noir of her appetites curls tenebrous from
Her red fingernails,
As down beneath her the ragged gypsies set up
A tent as pink as shell, breathing in the humid circulations;
They will sell fireworks for New Years as their
Children pickpocket early into the morning of
Another resolution, as the schools of fish go leaping
From the anonymous masses of fleeted waves,
Never breaking from their private shadows for as long
As night persuades the convictions of dawn.