Festival Of Russian Roulette Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Wounded and lost,
Like a knight never to make love with
A princess again,
Or even eyes- Lost like a school yard
Of impotents,
Swaying to the sultry lips of minnows-
As it seems for awhile
That the entire conflagration can come up
With one word to describe
How they can never see her again:
Because she is gone forever
From this high school:
Gone up north,
Or transplanted across the sea- and I seem
For awhile lost through the heirlooms
Where I am not here-
Arduous perfume calling to a tempestuous
Love knowing that she can never
Leave her batting cages,
But it rains and her weapons whisper as
They glisten and cry-
And maybe they never awaken for another
Breakfast again,
But what I know: I’ve kissed your mouth,
And fed you mine-
Your children are lovely,
And you will go out with them in the great
Hibernations of all of the weathers,
But you will not become my world:
Like a zoetrope jumping for a fox,
You captivate me with illusion-
And I watch out marriage like a silent
Film
Before a festival of Russian Roulette.