The Glad And Cloudy Void Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Unbounded reasonlessess looking for the broken
Bottles the same sheered color as the
Grass, where the light is smoking through, and where
It is curling for awhile:
Where it is gathering up in Bristle vases,
And making shallow promises for the eyes of little girls
Who haven’t yet opened the prisons of speech:
It all seems for awhile to be congenial, and the ephemeral
Misfits don’t even know who they are,
As the cars speed through the showers of light that moves
As if curtains of whispers before the awestruck passengers
Who float with out reason of empiricisms through
The glad and cloudy void.