Robert Rorabeck

(04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

Through The Anonymity of The Loams


Proud filters of cowboys and
Boyscouts moving the herds and mowing the yards,
Crushing scuppernongs into wine,
And watching the terrapin disappear, retracting their
Senses into a mossy rouse,
The cormorants down the rows from them like mailboxes
At the hair lips of caesuras,
As the gladness of overeager foams- and the girls
Ride the ponies far back into the storage rooms of
Orchards until they find each other kissing
Themselves and spilling over the
Variegated paper cuts that lay corrugated like nourishing
Crops upon which the fat and sated bellies of rattlesnakes
Make indistinguishable patterns,
As if the spilling of discarded foreskins or weathervanes
Through the anonymity of the loams.

Submitted: Thursday, October 28, 2010
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