The Fire Which Has Drowned Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Fire Which Has Drowned



You f-ed up big time
On the other side of the yellowest
Caution tape,
And now I know I've seen
The butterflies flying out of your eyes,
Or your mouth anyways—
Old muses such as you, such as milk weeds,
Grow out from the yellowed
Turn abouts of the bus loops—
No, I am not jealous—it is just your habitual
Habitation,
Anyways—jaundice and in love
With lemon grass—
As old professors shoot themselves in the
Ass—
And the Catholic churches paint themselves underneath
Of the moon—
Soon, the memories which you cannot
Have will be coming home underneath the
Equinoxes of the mailboxes—
And you will be just as brave as you can be,
After the fire has drowned,
Like fireworks for the fishes of the sea,
And there is absolutely nothing else which can
Be saved.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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