The Heavenly Trailer Parks Of Their Own Televsion Shows Poem by Robert Rorabeck

We’ll hold class again, as the sun goes down,
As the bouquets, again,
Are placed upon her bosom: and this is the world again,
As the horses struggle in the lottery of
My father’s deity,
To win again, while the vowels replace themselves
Through the overgrown syllables of my
Annunciation.
As when it storms, and the demigods race their chariots,
As the super stations advertise their
Gasoline,
As over all of the oceans, the stewardesses start
Out once again,
Waxy bosoms the lustrous pornographies
Viewing the unseen:
Then I suppose, again, that you can start showing
Your own narcissistic hallucinations:
Like mother goddesses eating their own roe
In the rivers that birthed themselves and their own daughter
From the nuptials just as if the bouquets gifted
To themselves from the heavenly trailer parks of their
Own television shows.