Impossible Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Teal monuments hover and vibrate like
Threatening broadcasts over the sloping greens
With little holes,
And little flags which wave like little surrenders,
The crocodiles who smile back strokes,
Sleep in their prehistory, have no judgment for
Fashion, faux pas- Exgirlfriends, dermatologists,
Thesis defenses-
There where the storm comes riding like something
Which can’t ever be experienced in
Moribund hallways, the echoes of grammarians,
Longitudinal fathers put the spurs to their sons,
And the crocodiles smile with nine irons and
Backstrokes, teal monuments hover and vibrate like
Threatening broadcasts over the sloping greens
With little holes,
And little flags which wave like little surrenders,
The adulterers in the window’s cuckolding, can only
See each other liked pealed plums-
They stick fingers into the steaming desert stolen from
Their mother’s birthday,
There where the storm comes riding like something
Which can’t ever be experienced in
Moribund hallways, the echoes of grammarians,
Longitudinal fathers put the spurs to their sons,
So they rise up with good posture, professional arrangements
Corner offices, big windows where their contemporaries
Play the sport of kings, the green body of the woman
Conquistador, rising up in little holes, with little flags
Like little surrenders,
The crocodiles who smile back strokes, and the cold front
Where the storm trundles in brushing the lips of pine trees,
Salting the arcade of their limbs,
Like something which can never be experienced....