National Feeling Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Open yellow branches inside the yellow
Sun—I don't know why it feels so good to be feeling
As much as you've told me to feel—
Branches over splaying throughout all of the estuaries:
This is the song of all of those reruns while
Across the open orchards the water moccasins
Fawn—open mouthed—and keeping to their guns:
Their beautiful or chartreuse bellies open as the playgrounds
That here eyes meant to feel—as then there is unto them
A national feeling to her eyes—or another part all
Strung out through the echoes—and all of the midgets
Run away and string their clothes into the parks—
Figuring out whatever it was that she was forever meant to feel.