Everything Else That Has Fallen From The Sky Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Long shouts of glory through the forest
Even still die away:
The sky is cold and gray, and your buttercup orifices
Have been trounced into the path by the drunken soldiers
Of my fingerprints:
Gainesville is dust: the mermaids were soldered together,
Their tailfins rust:
Airplanes full of lunching tourists kamikaze into the barking
Woods:
It is no good, but the sun still whittles all of this from
His seat on high,
But he is such a lonesome guy. The rainstorms come and
Make him cry,
And the earth pitter patters teardrops that drool obliquely
Around the convexity of scuppernongs
On the wild paths sniffed by homespun dogs;
And I think of you and everything else that has fallen from the sky.