Here Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Here, these are filthy things
In unnecessary lines.
I try to express myself to the firmaments
But I come down halfway
Like a pop-rocket spent
In some vacant lot in Kansas.
I reached to grasp you from the ledge,
But you leapt anyway into the strong man’s
Arms. I guess the fall wasn’t as dangerous
As I had thought,
But you moved away too soon
From you childhood home
And now your memories sit around like
Squatters on that vacant lot, wondering
If they should be forgotten so
That they can go down to the swings
In the high Michigan park
Where the ghosts of my love hangout
Like juvenile delinquents
Flicking hot ash from their lips
As they take elliptical swipes at
Being angels, as the chained wings take
Them….
Neither of us have to go to school anymore,
But I want to sit in the class and stare at
Your eyes, even if they never turn
This way again….
Even if I never learn anything more
Than a few lines, like names pissed in the dark.
I’ll always have a bushel full of fireworks
To shoot at the gods,
So if you ever decide to come around
That will be something we can do….