In The Blackness Above The Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Unequalled in my parallels as to be a road
Going on through the sagebrush and bric-a-brac
As never to be untouched by
Attributing avenues, gaining only bad luck by flying too
Fast and running over owls
Dinning on the previous carnage I should have
Foreseen:
Above, no waves glistening through the caves,
Baited without echoes, maybe Indians are hiding out in
Them still,
Selling plastic bones; but I am too tired and weary to stop:
There is only one home:
On and on past the ravaged gardening of chalk,
Past the milky flakes of the emolliations of the failed:
There seems to be a woman’s heart somewhere in the blackness
Like a loveless moon,
Saving herself only for one who can meet her in that blackness
Above the sky,
In that place that by my very nature I am not allowed to return
To:
Pressed like an over determined salesman to my wheel,
I ply the night hoping for something that cannot even apply:
The avenue is weary, alone,
Nothing I have seen is ever returning, I must continue.
The moon is in the blackness above the sky.