The Overabundant Earth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Waking up to the echoes and their kings-
Words that come up to her, making a show with the lunges of
The sea, to finally recede in the drowned dust bowls
Of caesuras,
And all of the horses of mermaids riding in the quicksilver bowl,
A ballroom of caracoling blue that tries to enamor
The copper canons up on the terraplane of that old but inexhaustible
Fort; and the tourists happily up there looking around
Premeditating Disney World, and soup kitchen sex
Next door to their relatives come down from
Michigan honeymooning in road side hotel rooms I once
Remembered her in; but there she is- gone underneath so many
Billboards, neither kidnapped or taken against any will:
Lost in a game of predestined cards- the holidays on her back
Like wonder lust, and the windmills selling the story
Of my discarded defeat to each others lips
As they pull up the water smelling over sweetly of wildflowers
And road kill from the flesh wounds of the overabundant earth.