If It Were Real Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If It Were Real



Open me in the shadows, my son of boulevards,
And you will say I am brilliant,
Even though it isn’t enough:
For all my songs are an echo;
And all my hair is gray, and the sun has beaten my
World;
All the girls are empty oysters, all my words of
Them the eventual failures of a burned out fire;
And I exist within the minute pauses of traffic;
I try to exist right here,
Or when I leap it is to breathe inside the mobile
Shadows of a goddess;
It is the only thing that is good for me,
And she rests in holidays but never quite repeats herself;
But I keep swilling up from the bottom of a glass,
Each time my eyes a little wider from less oxygen;
Each time the rain hitting further apart, her canopy a little more
Spread,
And I more drawn out and tenebrous;
The train tracks shallow basins of my dogs’ muted tongues;
I sleep all day in their loneliness,
Or in the brilliant loneliness of her shadow which shimmers
Sometimes off her body as it waves as if it were real.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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