The Only Way You Learned To Move Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Only Way You Learned To Move



I’ve been exercising my routine while I’ve
Been very lonely: I am that very point that the airplanes
Are always leaping from.
Beautiful girls like does, like silver grasshoppers spilling their
Guts to firemen,
Filigreed with the razzmatazz of their makeshift gazebos
After the curtains of the latening evening and the Church are closed,
And all the houses which I thought I’d want have been
Sold: My best friend’s older sister is having a picnic
With a wolf who knows karate;
And where are you but all the way down the belly of the teal embankment,
Making goo-goo eyes with all of your harborers of the time-honored
Traditions of reptilian gravity:
And maybe I’ve even seen you making love with the conquistadors
You’ve exhumed underneath the lightweight pine trees
While the buses move unsuspecting children in between the shows:
Maybe I’ve even seen you making love dressed in the pantomime
Of a grand egret’s draping silhouette,
But maybe that is the only way you learned to move.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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