Like Katydids On Her Summits Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They made love so many times underneath the silent
Passes.
The roses kept on growing right over the silently laying
Prostitutes just where they had planted them
That the tourists past everyday like headlights in
The night, and fled to Disney World damming up
The yuk yuks where the cartoons were always
Kissing themselves and then falling down the jubilees
Of the cataracts and taking pictures and eating
Cotton Candy, like the Titans do with the clouds:
And she is up there holding my last grave like a pill
Box filled with the jumping beans possessed by
Her ancestors- the train tracks of the impassable heavens
Hollow resonating with her fever like the amber
Tears of a forest passing down and dancing for the most
Intrepid of tourists: the young boys with the longest legs
Struggling up the mountains alone and well after midnight
Daring to see what they will be turned into,
Like rabbits leaping to kiss the lips of a rattlesnake:
As she calls down to them her ever changing gifts:
And they sit like kines for salt lick in the monuments of
Her dinner table- breathless, and they lose
Themselves up there above the forests and the butterflies:
Their girlfriends calling up to them from so far below,
They will never answer, because soon they will lose
Their bodies like katydids on her summits, and then
They will be dancing ever after in a zoetrope of the spirits
Of the intrepid men, which is her business to be at
Busily collecting.