From Ears To Ears Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Brand new aggrandizing scars:
I wake up in the morning and I try to breathe not too
Hard:
Some ones are dyings and some ones are being borns,
And fine young fine ones are always blowing their horns:
Areolas are seashells
Washed away from mermaids, like this new day washes
Away those old ones,
And the sky: maybe she is serving drinks in the sky,
Like a sorority in a Catholic school bus that spread its wings and
Fly:
Now they stretch their legs and yawn, tawny legs of tawny
Ribbon,
Copper arms and bronze: and they lie for awhile in their blue
Suits and pinafores while their captains draw them along,
With far too many reasons not to find me,
To look so far down and gone where then the earth is just a
Trinket blown of vermilion glass,
And their days are always passing beneath the sky, their
Overpass;
And it seems that they are resting for awhile against the inclinations
Of the spheres,
The blind old men, those peeping toms who grin their daylights
From ears to ears.