Robert Rorabeck

Bronze Star - 2,238 Points (04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Under All Of The Muse's Tears - Poem by Robert Rorabeck

More graffiti for stewardesses while
My wife sleeps curled up in a shell, a baby inside
Of her like a fully engaged pearl—
Her land of faraway overpopulated by midgets—
Words get twisted
Around the maypole where firemen dressed
As rabbits dance—
And it rains outside making the grasses bury eggs—
Dogs get old and die, but then they are
And lines as swift as trains appear out of nowhere,
Going home sometimes takes them all week—
Winos lifting jugs in the fog where the big
Ships sleep, wondering where they buried
Their lucky numbers—beautiful teams of words,
As if raising from the water fountains that advertise
Eternal youth in the middle of a school day—
The popularity that is never used eventually goes
The werewolves sing to the unicorns in their sleep,
And other things come to us from the metropolis
Of the houses that inevitably drown
Under all of the muse's tears.

Listen to this poem:

Comments about Under All Of The Muse's Tears by Robert Rorabeck

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Sunday, January 20, 2013

Poem Edited: Monday, January 21, 2013

[Report Error]