Into The Seas Of Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Making another line in the wilting snow:
It is just make-believe anyways—
The cathedrals are over-run with parked cars
And the bouquets which were supposed to be
Here—It doesn't matter if the lovers
Can hardly breathe—
They have been too busy getting all over themselves—
The words hunger, and then they starve:
The rain starts out,
Like beautiful banshees in a traffic jam press ganged
Before the mountains:
Those beautiful apiaries in their boudoirs of
Nose bleeds: and I suppose I can say it
Anyways,
Because no one shall find this anyways—
There she was, on a high shelf, the airplanes making'
Her barrettes—
And no one had to languish too long beside her
Swimming pools—
Her amusements were all torn down upon the day
She was married,
And all of her senses dived into the seas of
The impenetrable heavens.