The Smiles Of All Of The Wolves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want another house to contain my imagination while I live
Outside of my self—
In a little while, I want to live in the bossom of mountains again,
And make an arcade after midnight
In all of the silent palaver I am sure no one but you will take
The time to read and thus to undertsand.
The horney toad waits for this open throated,
Making an illusion of carports beside my grandmother’s grave—
While off in the distance, my father’s horses run—
Unanimously, making a Disney World out of the
Broken hills—
Their hoof beats stamping out creches and fjords where
I can hide all of the wilted flowers I once tried to give my broken
Loves:
Now corsaged into the cut stems of dying flowers, the
Recognize the places inwhich they are made to love—
For a little while, kidnapped movie theatres that never thought
To open for themselves amidst the open hills—
The blooms that slow down until evening
And then close up shops and all of their business—
What beauty they rectify against the smiles of all of the wolves.