The Limestone Of His Flesh

Poem By Robert Rorabeck

Pornographies, sisters of the sinister thoughts
Selling to the rattlesnakes
Already devoured by the road:
One of her spiked shoes already cast away in
The amber weeds: they are sway—
They are two high—
The traffic sounds like snow, the airplanes like
They cross her and go into the parks of the
They learn to fly. Beneath them, where the
Sun rolls, the roads are made of shells crenulated
Into a skin shed from the giant she lays upon:
Her lips the basalt he nibbles, groaning with
Rivers carrying in the limestone of his flesh.

Comments about The Limestone Of His Flesh

There is no comment submitted by members.

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of RORABECK

A Flower In The Rain

I want to fall on you like rain
upon a wildflower
Opening new reason from you
Scaring all the old bees away from

Alice And The Spooks

Little girls in little blonde curls
In reddish frilly messes
Eat their lunch alone,
Served by brunette waitresses

A Single Kiss

Well, it is raining, and the raindrops make
Furtive areolas in the puddles of muddy bellies,
And their mists are like nebulous shrouds,
And unfertilized thoughts of maidens dreaming of

According To Death

With others old and gray,
Or not so old at all—Maybe they will
Mostly be fair haired and young,
If it should be a tragedy. Who knows?


When you are on the highway
going down the lines like
words of the poem pull over
for the ambulance her red light

Dorothy In The New America

When Dorothy got to Oz,
She crawled out her window and said,
“Is this still America? ”
Because she felt so strange,