Fever Of Glowing Horses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fever Of Glowing Horses



Balled into a fever
Of glowing horses-
Broken-legged down in the
Valley-
The clouds move over a
Well the naiads
Have fallen into
Whenever the flags are made
Out of the carcasses of
Butterflies-
And your father's corpse
Roams the earth
Waiting for a king he can
Finally
Appreciate-

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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