Nearer And Then Farther Away Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Long avenue that is the serpent of our history,
We live in trailer parks that do not exist
And drink beer beneath the deer antlers—and go outside
In the rainstorms for a piss—
And I have loved my women here—browned skinned
Daisies continuing up into the stars:
Goldilock's who do not know whenever they will
Be getting home—
And love that disappears into the insouciants of nocturnal
Bars:
Feelings in the rhythms of my glass—another way to go
Home before I sleep—
Terrapin and hobos sleeping beneath the overpass—
Soft whispers against her absent minded cheek—
The lactations of a world that moves so far away from here—
Crystal clear rivers bleeding from an ocean
That rushes nearer and then farther away from her.