The Beer Maid Of The Sky's Arcade Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Because I paid them,
They made her to look like you-
The beer maid of the sky’s arcade,
But I would only admit to
It with a smile,
Because you have gone away-
Beneath the ocean’s curling petals,
Beneath the milky avenues
Of the newly formed nation
Which diadems that greatest hallucination-
There in the Atlantean grottos
You wear the speckled colors
Of other thoughts,
Sitting with the amputated statuettes
Of your lovely sisters,
And you hold a man in your heart
I do not recognize;
But in the sky the well-paid architects
Have made her for me,
The billboard of unending horizon
And she doesn’t turn off:
Her lips, as big as rosy ships
Sell things which we all need-
When whispering, they feed the softly-singing bees;
Her eyes are the bluest things we
Can stare into with no cessation;
Easily striding, she walks over the earth,
Advertising herself brightly in many cities,
As the airplanes pass by her opal brow
Filled with love-sick tourists,
Who tip over and die just to
See this giant goddess who to it
You are a forgotten blueprint....