The Awful Revelations Of That Afternoon Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I like to laugh and go down into wells:
Where the pretty unicorns sing and take care of themselves:
There in the grottos where they sell their pretty wares
Underneath the light weight overpasses who use them
To clean their houses:
They never even knew how beautiful the were,
Or how the swords felt floating through the forests of a lover’s
Moon:
They just rose up higher and higher, but even then they could
Hardly even be called our god’s buffoons:
They made the witchcraft of lawyers, and they made the laws,
But I kissed Alma open mouthed today,
And she admitted that she still didn’t belong: and I could smell
The grass as if it was the blood of her favorite color,
And all the turns took the routes of her body
And they flowed as beautiful as the idea still kept secret
In the eyes of a blind man as his fingers crept around the sunlight
Of the various habitats we held hands through before
The awful revelations of that afternoon.