The Lost And Frightened Traffics Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The bodies of flesh always fail:
It was what they were made to do, like seahorses doing somersaults
In the brine,
Looking like they can last forever only to be dashed on the rocks
Like the all too ready tears of virgins,
And now I know someone that not a single one of my major professors
Know,
And I profess by her light, though I am too busy to write novels to her
Right now:
I want her for my spouse, to live and sleep in my house,
And maybe that is what will happen,
After I get back from fireworks and before Christmas:
Maybe her family’s burdens will be lifted,
Maybe her husband will go away on an over long and over zealous
Journey,
But otherwise you should not get your hopes up,
But keep singing your songs for the empty canvases and pastures awash
With her favorite color,
While she keeps her face up towards the clouds, and so becomes the
Eagerly frantic butterfly who is just trying to make it above the
Eager butcheries of the lost and frightened traffics.