By The Tattoos And Other Bruises Of The World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Open theatre on the hillside of a graveyard of
A campus:
Purple bloom: there in the student ghetto of
A tomb:
Wasps and werewolves
And watermelons: the sky looks up into a
Birdcage of gigantic skeletons:
As the world continues selling around us
All year, or all afternoon:
And I will have to get into my classroom tomorrow:
I will have to unlock the door
An answer in the morning to her and her
And her:
And it will become a sparrow lost in her nest
Of doorknobs:
And it will become another firework in mimicry
Underneath the space shuttle,
As all of the doors close in, and the beautiful animals
Retreat, and you look into his eyes
Forlornly for another hour- your soul
Disfigured by the tattoos and other bruises of a world
That will never close.