The Venemous Homogony Of Their Burry Esplanades Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Faces decay in their new enjambments
And I’m supposed to be reading Emerson,
But in Saint Louis no one gives a damn
Except for cemeteries and baseball,
But now there is time for the immense
Worshiping of my father’s fireworks,
And we will soon sell something
Along the antique desert
Where there is so much to buy,
All strung out through the venomous
Homogony of their burry esplanades
Where grandmothers looking weeping
Into the disastrous sky into which
Their daughters have leapt before
Their time—
But, other than this,
There is so very little to say.