My Kingdom Of Wimpled Ghosts Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Days, you come- even in South Florida, smoke rings
Caracole the sky like costume bells,
And I can see the shadows of my face hopefully
Tremulous in tainted wishing wells,
And older parks where I knew I used to like to
Jaunt,
But they have been combed over by the more novel
Flaunts, the easier and more reticulated love affairs,
Girls with blue and black nails who make it
While the alligators watch,
And the cold fronts ripple the sky with thunderbirds of
Homeless liquors- the sky in the color of a chilly pantina,
And I am the homeless king underneath swinging on
My lonely throne through my kingdom
Of wimpled ghosts.