The Lucky Pennies Of Goldfish Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Lucky Pennies Of Goldfish



Don’t sing while listening:
This is the empty cage of my body-
This is the husk of my pretty
Song bird
Thrust like the coal of a present at the footsteps
Of your door:
Oh- lo- don’t sing for these pretty amusements
Anymore:
While another day comes up through the
Chimneys and bagpipes
Of tomorrow-
While you’ve just been whistling and singing
For your supper again
Through the traffic, just as against the waves:
Don’t try to become beautiful
Anymore:
Purple enigma underneath the sun: sour bruise
In its cathedrals of starving children,
Just as in its special places in the world,
Find me out
And bight off my tongue- There is a feral child
In me,
And she continues going through the motions,
And this is just my inebriated fire for her
In the stagecraft of a prefabricated
Highway besides or beneath the impenetrable sea:
This is just how I’ve been drowning, anyways,
Just like the lucky pennies of goldfish
Swimming around the racetracks of the overturned
But still live giving Christmas tree.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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