The Sands Shifted Against The Baseball Games Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Another living grave bleeds the flowers of night:
This is all my middle-class mind knows how—darkly obsessed—
Making love through the unadulterated anarchy of
These cul-de-sacs—one or two other feral boys lighting off
Fireworks somewhere near this place—
As airplanes skip like well-lit stones across the prophecies
Of the heavens—
And marionettes shed their strings. Skipping across
The ocean, they are wedded to real live Chinese girls
In shanghai—
That is just what I did, a real live boy, anyways—
And when I got home, famished—the Ferris wheels I had once
Loved had packed up and moved on,
Going north into the ether—to the daydreams of the genies
As the perpetual foxes always leapt up to
Try and grasp the meanings of the beautiful women
Who pretended to be there for them,
But were just mirages—as the sands shifted against
The baseball games,
And made their peace somewhere else.