Through Its Supposed Rings Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Jubilance that is undone nearer the unrecorded surface of
The lake:
Another day is taken away from the mouths that are already
Underground—and in their long and slender
And tin-footed homes
Find a way to rest underneath the plastic roses—
And the sun molests them at the cheeks—
The rivers bend but only accordingly,
As the traffic flashes at the geometry of its butchery:
Long slow flashes,
Like Morris code telling of the missteps that can never
Be behaved:
The justice of her home in an apiary that no longer
Produces anything sweetly—
But rides a pace until clawing its way indoors
And then stutters around the thresh-holds of housewives:
Where I have seen images of you—brilliant if destroyed
Kaleidoscope of inferior sorority -
As you sleep walk around your bed what must be a thousand
Times like a blind tiger, tamed,
Trying to find a way through its supposed rings.