Caesuras Of The Out Of Work Sea Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The tents will go up in New Mexico
And Arizona:
They will rise higher than the fires,
And we will sell fireworks in their penumbras-
And the cheap dragons will dance inside them,
Curling around their toolboxes,
And then they will steal the moonlight from the golden moon,
Who itself is a thief
And a voyeur of stewardesses and the ways home,
And the few words that I cannot even describe will leave my
Body like a eulogy, like cheap science-fiction,
Like a rose over the anonymous grave of a prostitute,
And somewhere else in this country
There will be a song sung better than mine, and it will
Rise for awhile above the conflagrations of
Mountains in Colorado,
Making the tourists stop to consider, before even
They get back to business-
And the kidnappers will arrive at their destinations;
And it will be another sad story
Told through the lips of orange groves and pressed forever
Against the romanticized caesuras of the out of work
Sea.