The Gills Of Unknown Trespassers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Blood recoiling from the nuisance of
The absences of the senses as, at first, the busses
Turned around,
Looking just as beautiful as those chartreuse
Butterflies that attracted all of the boys from their
Playgrounds-
And so when in the summer the angels cried,
Entrepreneurs, just as delicate as China dolls,
Went around and bottled the
Sweat off of their delicate senses
And sold it to those of us who were in charge—
As the beautiful vision continued,
Stretching for many miles into the east,
Until there was no further places for the names
Of men, as the illusions skimmed across the waves
Where mouths opened sporadically
And the gills of unknown trespassers fluttered,
Not understanding what exactly it was that
They were supposed to save.