My Muse's Beautifully Scabbed Knees Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Ashes of a forest fire sparked by paper airplanes
Down through the secret mills and
Cotton gins,
Clouding the eyes of unicorns and tornados.
Or the different ways to spell for her,
While alligators lay sunbathing on the patio, prematurely the
Happenstances of death:
They wait for the long boys to get out of school and
Spark fireworks that tear up a suburban sky,
And they masturbate,
Or anyways they make love:
And they go down from this while the stewardesses don’t
Even wave goodbye-
And it gets plain as day- that they are ready to leave,
Even though the bones are dancing
And dinners are served through the housewives like
Waves, breaking again their patios for their husbands:
And they do this in roes like spectators,
Long after the flea markets and ferris wheels are closed-
Closed,
And the dogs lay scratching at fleas, and I lay on my floor
And look up at my muse’s beautifully scabbed knees.