The Territories Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Caught up in the singing oasis- and everybody looking
For a friend,
As hearts are stolen over the weekend, only to
Be sold and sold again:
Words in the dictionary swimming in the shallowness of
Our senses-
As lights of a juvenile sun bleed over the surreal
Extremity of our forests:
And this is the only kind of art that I know,
Pillaging the kindness from the senses-
As hooves dance across the rodeo,
Until we see that our cousins are migrating- happening to
Tell a story across the land:
First they pack up the fair in a lightning storm,
And then they recede across the Christmas trees and teepees
OF another fort made for trouble-
But they light out for the territories too far to be
Believed, and the rest of it I cannot explain.