The Mirrors Of Her Face Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Exorcised to the shoulders of unicorns:
The unicorns must lay over and play dead to survive,
As the Mexicans pretend to pick their
Rainbows
From the armpits of a beautiful America—
Coming back into what was stolen from them—
Epitaphs,
Cathedrals—and amens: but there is a night
That doesn't know how to reign in—
The dogs cannot smell their way home:
The skeletons rum and kick their own skulls across
Their bones:
And beautiful avenues haunted at a place—
Plastic barrettes in her hair,
As the airplanes disappear as the mirrors of her face.