The Bonfires Of The Prettiest Unbelievables Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Suntans the bobsleds of its architectures
And I get busier looking younger, spilling my joints
Underneath the kites that could not take me anyways—up to
Airplanes and stewardesses
Into the higher freedoms over patriotisms and yard sales—
Over the unbeautified spaces that don't yet know
How to breathe—like goldfish when their bowls are all gone,
Dreaming of the fossils out on the street,
Crushed by the feet of cars,
Beaten by the bonfires of the prettiest unbelievables.