The Shows Of Angels Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They swung their hips to the shows of
Angels in their parapets:
They raised their hands and petted the wet paint or
Tears off of airplanes
Going the opposite way,
And the dictions of the clouds spoke of so many
Rejoices simultaneously:
Metamorphosis was in full bloom—
The softest strata that poor girls feel as they,
Poisoned, swoon—
And lay with the leap frogs in the grass—
Soft and inconspicuous where the unicorns have
Disappeared in the anonymous islands leading up
To the overpass.