In Pictures Of Strange Midnight Yards Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Tenebrous squalor of words, I do not love you,
And the world is disjointed and all of the sons of all of
The mothers and fathers are far away from their
Trailer parks: they are being looked after by strangers,
As their zoetropes languish underneath the sky
In pictures of strange midnight yards who are always pulling
Back and pulling back as the airplanes fly to get
Outside of the houses who are chasing them but
Cannot fly.