Prettiest Monuments Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Newer possibilities keeping to themselves while
The racetracks are let out into the rain—
While the artist weeps, wondering whatever is to
Remain—
Until the day flies above and beneath—
In the heaven's wonder—in the satanic reef—
And all of the promises
Of angels are swallowed as pills—and all of the gills
Of swordfish are
Taken to go to sleep—the marionettes wonder,
Empty handed, as to how many cardboard stages they
Must creep—
While their master is drunk again—thirty year old
Magician happening upon this hapless land:
This is my fantasy I keep to myself—
My very own soul in the palm of my hands—
This is the delight I keep delight in,
Crawling upon the perimeter of the dusky swimming pool:
The very same fairytale the selkies delight in:
Surmising that the do not have to change—forever
And never again—
Drowned bicycles resting beneath them—
Just as cherished as the very young pools underneath the
Very old stars—the wreckage of catastrophes
Ever wonder forever who they are—
But the daylight will awaken around them tomorrow—
And swirl in Chablis of uncharacteristic monuments—
And the heavens will keep forever—as long as there
Are pretty young girls watering the front yards
Of their prettiest monuments.