(04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

The Sum Of The Poltergeist

The sum of the poltergeist is in bitter memory,
In a skein of discord plugging a hole in the hidden mountains-
The tramped on spine by black-hole horseshoes worn by the
Caterwauling spider-leg devils, the pinstriped ring masters
Of heavy machineries:
The little murders done in the draping mourning
When the yawning globe smells of snot and tears....
What is left? They are selling her off in the harbor of auction:
The vivisection makes two strange sisters in the grinning grass-
They call her mute and her blind, and she is a fettered
Toy wound up to run away, but lost....
Men and husbands are bidding on her with clasped briefcases,
And woodpecker beaks which eat entire forests;
The well-dressed brotherhood stares down at her making an eclipse
In her wooden tomato hamper in the kitchen’s gloom.
When they are not selling, they nest in her leg,
Which is given the worthless jewelry of heavy chains,
And pollinate her with epitaphs and fifteen minute
Advertisements which produce snail-like children like bruised caviar
Beneath her swollen breasts. In trails of slime,
The gastropoda crawl up to suckle the irritated nipples,
But they are quickly plucked by stork-like fingers,
Who also steal the acidic lactates to make escargot of disinherited offspring;
Triumphantly they bugle, little fingers between their teeth,
The actuated sounds of a slave ship’s abortion,
The coital hurricanes: The symphonic Arian bliss of anteaters
In the deepest savannas crawling with the food
Of patriarchal hyperbole in the suburban subdivisions of dead planets
And bankrupt carnivals;
They are using her ingredients in a lucrative spell cast in
The delicate front yards mowed by illegals and dismissive poets,
Who crumple up their disavowed lines and hang them
In the satanic crooks of cypress, the unmolested love offerings
For the blue woman in the far away window
Of the house they attend.

by Robert Rorabeck

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