Staged In Witchcraft Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am a dime by any number:
I am alone-
My shoulders and cheeks are freckled
By the sun:
And I am alone:
I am alone, flipping like the picture books of
Zoetrope’s
Through the conundrums of my cathedrals:
I am alone:
I alone:
But I am bivouacked beneath Hillary’s Step,
And I just plan to believe here:
And I just plan to stay here, anymore:
While any number of any number
Has been masturbating itself toward any door:
And now you know just why
I stand here, holding my
Bicycle just like a sweetheart, waiting for the
Door of heaven to swing,
And the ribcage of my beloved to hinge back into
Me like the homecoming of
A racecar:
Waiting for her to swing back into me- as the
Golden candelabrums twinkle through
The graveyards of the pigmies underneath the
Chandeliers of the oh-so pitiful foyer:
As it so happens, it is all staged in witchcraft-
As the fireworks ignite warlords across
The floorboards- and another holiday happens
Upon us,
And you, three fingered- don’t have to believe
In any of us anymore.