The Angels Of Daydreams Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The same architects
Hang upon your shoulders as
Upon the bells of
Churches—
With the paper snowflakes
Outside with the
Lizards
Crawling over the pitchfork
Promises of
Blind men—accoutrements
To the opaque
Sunlight—And
The traffic is going down
The highway to the graveyards—
Forgetting the hidden
Places reminiscing in
The soft grasses—
As stewardesses float like
The angels of daydreams
So many feet above the
Absentminded playgrounds
Of those middle-class
Yards every day.