Littlest Heaviest Thing Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You complicate the sky
Every time I run toward you,
You flick on the brights
And become the neon angel
Spreading its wings,
Hiding the barreling train
Only to step aside at the
Last moment to watch
Me devoured by the
Prehistoric processions,
A stampede of cheerleaders
With heavy singularities
Flecking their eyes,
Which start unraveling
My guts, strings of spaghetti
Sucked through the lips
Of the succubus who cheers
Rosy cheeks and pompoms—
There, between eerie white teeth
To become compacted, all
Of it in a single point—
Arms and legs drawn in
Like a turtle playing defense,
Breath drawn in from the
Heavy blow, fist balled with painted nails,
To my chest, all sensibility knocked
Out of me—all that remains is
The point of the heaviest gravity,
Which nothing can escape, the thought
Of you like epileptic nebular
Clouds stampeding through the
Riverbeds of coal black sky,
Driven by the whips of her storm,
Pressing down with all the weight
of your anti-matter,
the mirror of the Universe-
You swoop down like the
Angel of death making an encore,
And pick me up where I
Lie on the sidewalk,
The littlest heaviest thing—
For some reason, you
Drop me in your pocket
And strut on down the street,
The points of your high heels
Sizzling the concrete.