The Fountains Of The Famished Poem by Robert Rorabeck
The Fountains Of The Famished
Joined at the hip to your cathedrals of ill fish—
Legs keeping warm like match sticks in an
Exhibit of forest—
As everything else dies—as the fairs turn away—
And the wolves envelope with the snow—
Underneath the mountains,
Buried arrowheads—
The false light of playgrounds that keep tricking
The pace—
Fires that have gone out—
And footprints that lead to the fountains of
The famished.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/4/2024 9:49:34 PM # 1.0.0.1119
