The Valley Of Windmills Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Valley Of Windmills



Crawling to the forefront of another misery of
Guatemala—I drink my rum,
I say my lines—and I await for another day to splay me open
To the eyes and senses of fishermen—
Or, if I suppose, the sunlight cannot keep you here
From another catastrophe,
Like stolen bicycles sleep walking back to their masters—
Cannot keep you from his love,
Or from the marionettes of his children he
Conceived inside of you—then the cave is stolen,
But in its zoetrope still dances—
Laughing under the moonlight for the wolves to come
Into its movie theatre, or for the planes flying above
It to look down,
Causing another catastrophe, awakening—
The moonlight over a valley of windmills—cousins to
The caesuras—they spring around them,
Never bothering to wonder what is laughing at the
Same time with the moon.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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