Like Rose Bushes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Like Rose Bushes



I’ve cried upon the rusting shoulder-blades
Of the airplanes that
Are not here—
Going back and forth—
All a glow in the statutory hallucinations
Of a bivouacked—soldiered all together
Of a dream
Of a murder—
Words whom are rolling off an inebriated tongue—
A million miles and
On top of mountains—
Going, or trying to go,
Like rose bushes where they should have
Belonged-

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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