The Make-Believe Cathedrals Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Your faces go down: faces dissembled
Across the mountains:
Well, I havent been singing for you, anyways,
And this is just my rhyme on the flat land:
And you havent been her bothering me,
Anyways;
And maybe you will make love to my cousin
Before the kites are unfurled and I have
Been here so long across the land of just because
Before you were here anyways:
While your children were startling, barefooted
Before the fort of the anemones:
And I’ve begun to cross myself, while all of what
You’ve imagined has started out breathing through
The shallows of its anemones, while
The bridges stretch and glisten blindingly across
The bridges of its anemones:
While, otherwise I figure I’ve been unfaithful across
The shallows that impart the uneasy or the
Intractable skeletons of which have come so
Easily before us:
While then in the uneasiest of forest you fail me:
You banish me anyways, and all of the knights
Clash anyways, and it is a beautiful if unspelled
Union, as the mountains seem to coalesce and kiss,
Or at least come together for their weddings:
Until it was all together a funeral, held together
By the willfulness of some truck to which the
Butterflies stuck to until they were into the forests
Of Mexico again: and all of their candied fables
Fell away again into the mouths into which
Already expected again:
And it was all turned around, and made to wash basins:
Until their spindled manes tended to flow over their
Glass blown cathode-ray: or, until they tended to kiss
And make up,
And to start, arm spreads across of all of the make believe
Cathedrals once again.