Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,025 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

That They Even Are - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I have written of the passions of the emptied hills,
As the blue sky vomits and seems to develop
Over the pubescent cathedrals,
So all of the fairytales are only have written:
They are like dead girls galloping on my leg in extracurricular
Activities;
As it has been forever so long that I have found myself to
Be beautiful;
And now I get drunk as close as I can to the eastern sea,
As I hear the clouds cleaning their rooms, hoping for
Tips,
As the fireworks happen to bloom all ready and as sudden
Over the heads of working girls who never
Have the time to wake up; so now I pick roses for
Alma,
And hold my guns to my lips, hoping for romance, while
The bones of her busy ancestors tell her the secrets
To their doors who turn out all red
And happen into the sun, who is also bright and macho,
Who spindles all of his legs down
To the sea
To be caressed by the mermaids who aren’t even any longer
Assured that they even are.

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, August 5, 2010



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