By Heavenly Tears Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Baton twirlers play until the lights are blackened
And someone's alligators sleep for eons;
How can they do that?
Like bears beneath the purplish aurora borealis—
The land steams in hot beds,
And still the girls play until they suffer blindness,
And in their blindness spend their time caressing
Trees in gardens their loved ones assure them are safe—
Where they can hear the cars from a safe distance—
And the empirical illusions of bottle rockets and
Roman candles—sparking off the god's knee caps;
As they can hear the sea filled with the illusions of muses
Gone feral—like a great winery corrupted by heavenly tears.