Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,196 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

This Avalanche Of Lost And Melancholy Time - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In all this pain the mundane reasons for
Getting up and going to work,
Neverminding the old reminiscent tugs of
Gravity
To bring you early to the graveyard where
Your kids will be playing with vapid ghosts
Until they come out of the misty shells
Of your woman’s showering fjords,
Like magic tricks of roses;
And you’ve been doing this, and laying low,
And telling yourself that this is how it’s going
To come for many years:
How your skeleton will be remembered and made
Into a bandy legged cenotaph they will name new
Brands of fireworks after:
And you’ve been doing this for the sun and the shadows
She makes all down from the slopes of your sweet
Muses, finally realizing that is how your time can best
Be served,
Refreshing in those developments, making love underneath
The impositions of titted matter:
That she has her swelling daughter strung out on a cliff
Face above you, parallel and even still to those cars;
And her days are turning above you,
Unreligious, and yet like a sanctified mobile:
And, yes, dreams of marbles and bouncing balls and afternoons
Matriculating beneath the breathy caracoles of all of those
Ceiling fans; and the days of leaps and bounds
That never quite found sure footing in your mind,
And it goes out like this muddling like a fisherman unsure of
His lines, of his love for a muse he has never known-
All the time just wanting one good muse to paraffin his soul,
Casting up his hope like throwing sweet change into the
Crooks and teeth of a pantomime’s graveyard
And spitting to see which way is up, to finally escape from
All this avalanche of lost and melancholy time.


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Poem Submitted: Monday, January 25, 2010



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