The Other Hopeless Planes Of Existence Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Other Hopeless Planes Of Existence

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I am making $400 dollars a week,
$300 of which I have promised to Alma
Over the phone while sitting in the Chinese restaurant
Along Southern Blvd, well approaching the
Lake Worth Lagoon,
Which made her laugh, and to say that I was crazy;
But when I pretended to be with another woman,
She hung up the phone,
And my neighbor is an antique shop who cut down the
Hibiscus which shadowed by back wall
Under which Alma’s bicycle is now infinitely sleep,
Like a fairytale child waiting for her to come and prick
It awake in the morning:
And then we will go together across the beautiful road,
And through the orchards, if we can find any,
Because I am a lonely boy, and it probably is that I am
Not real,
But I have my habitual songs that no one can hear,
And the mirages in my head the resurrect and undying family:
And I have once been to Spain, in which I got this
Blurring tattoo, but that problem is that I have never yet
Even been to Mexico,
Alma’s brown cradle of salt lick and scorpions,
Separated from me by the great frontera of murdered banshees,
And all of the other hopeless planes of existence that I am so
Happy that she can hardly even remember.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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