No Solution To Anything Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All of the thunder that is out of fire—
What noise does it make when there aren't
Any cars—
What sad lions frown when the wetness
Threatens their cages,
And then they have to put their manes
Down like the empty bottles of winos,
Like ghosts of dead baseball players in
Their batting cages—
And the fearful illusions have given up,
And all of the beautiful girls have traveled home—
It almost seems as if you can still see them,
Pretending that they are lingering upon a
Darkened road—
And that they keep their needs for you in
Their thoughts—
And the day languishes badly:
The ribbon is cut,
And there is no solution to anything anymore.