Like Harmless Fireworks Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Boss in the shellfish of my tears:
You are playing the last minuets over our gravestones
In the highest mines,
And this is real, the smoking mannerisms of light into
This work hyperventilating through the evergreens;
And girlfriends in the blue tents shaving to look good
For the cavalier gods
Blowing their trumpets over their mountains,
And stampeding in a fraternity through the shallow surfaces
Of the heavens, like seahorses multiplying in the brines
In the manifold cradles that smear like jelly
Around the lips of the smiles of
Crocodiles; as tomorrow there will surely be another sun coming
Around,
And the heroes underneath her embarrassment, cheering in the
Golden camps that the bears intrude,
Hunting like saber tooth for the lottery tickets and pomegranates
Made up or wished up
Like harmless fireworks sleeping in the atmospheres
Of fabulously volatile propane.