In The Seeped Earth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Venal muse of amusement parks and
Blind households,
The teasing lighthouse about the reef whose
Beacon goes off for ten seconds like
Overpriced fireworks,
And it is still dazzling and the men knowingly
Use her to commit to short shot hara-kiri,
And I sell good leather and tomatoes,
And all day long I keep my flag furled upside
Down, distressed over her,
Singing my old hound dog wails:
And the sea in the sky is filled with all the things
She has needlessly put away,
And they are still waiting for her- and even the
Airplanes gettyup to get to her quicker,
But where is she but on the other side of the canal
I somnolent evening dress,
Consumptive off of low-grade Florida Holy-
Perhaps she is dead, and we’ll all meet her at the grave:
That is when we’ll throw the game for her,
And bare her children grinning deep and forever in our
Honey moon right there in the seeped earth.