The Divine Traffics Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In a catharsis of waxy elbows like an entire
Gift basket left for the slight degrees of vision of
An alligator as white as snow
And left into captivity underneath the pitter-patter of
Plastic reindeer:
If we kissed this way sometimes on our Tuesdays off,
Fearlessly but avoiding eye contact, our bodies like
Cleaning agents rubbing together an hypnotic memory
Under the glass eyes of some blinded church-
With the gods and the presidents rolling the dice of our families,
And all of the divine traffics continuing the sanguinities
Of the un stymied wound.