Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,308 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Prehistoric Red Room - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’ve created behind my eyes
A prehistoric red room
where extinct women gyrate
to the flickering kiss of
kerosene lamps, everyone
who lived before me and
died in Detroit with the
junkyards visits me here-
relaxing on red vinyl
blood smooth when the
room changes it goes
all the way back over the
hills like yesterday,
it cools in the shadows
over the secret valleys
of an Appalachian gin,
amidst the alders where
sun and shade play slowly
on the suffocating lips of a naked woman
eating huckleberries
my eyes are full of immigrants,
ancestral highlanders, round-headed
bandits putting the blade to the
Tories, they come inside me
for refuge and I introduce them to
the woman behind the bar.
In the corner booths, with their
fingers beckoning, and their eyes
opening butterflies, women are
the sexy gray of old photos,
silky ancestral sisters dressed
in red corsets their
eyelashes are silver filigree
speaking to me, their lips like
smoke rising the subtle shift
of tectonic plates moves in my body
in the booth where
the analogue radio, in circular
mouth, plays the bluesy prayers
of newly freed gentlemen.

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Comments about Prehistoric Red Room by Robert Rorabeck

  • (12/8/2005 10:35:00 PM)


    this is a exercise as to why people should drink only the finest whiskey i
    just wish my dreams were as orgasmatic is that a proper word as the stuff that
    lingers in this poem, of course being from France i have to drink brandy straight out
    of a vat with a straw with the other peasants but because of your imagination
    you have to have at least eight

    Ohhhhhhhhh Yeahhhhhh
    (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, December 8, 2005



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