The Orchard In My Mind Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Where is the orchard in my mind,
Following behind the lions—waiting for you after
Lunch, even after all of your soul
Has swum over the waters and into the trailer
Park where your little children have disappeared—
I ran away from school and fell asleep
In the middle of a canoe,
While even all of the oceans were counting wilds—
And you were gone back to him,
Recreationally continuing along with your life—
Shooting angels who meant nothing to you—
Just to stay free—they fell into the bushes on
The other side of the road like the twilight of
Another holiday—
And your world was young for a while,
And smoking through the aboriginal pyramids
Where your grandmother stole roses—but from which
You left behind in opulent condition—
Now you live like the Virgin of Guadalupe above
Disney World—and I keep on loving you like a
Marionette who has lost all motivation in the grasses:
Hands gone that once pretended to love him—
Rabbits and Ferris Wheels and foxes gone—
As the lamp spilled across the world—and the blind man
Lapsed into the chassis of pornography,
Lamenting everything that could not seem to be undone.