The Pillars Of Emollition Poem by Robert Rorabeck

And I will be all empty, as to be
A plague at last,
A thief and a liar on the Siamese overpass;
And words which will not heal, eating goat cheese,
And smiling up at the weathers of concords and airplanes:
Smiling through the weathervanes of the surreal,
The crocodiles becoming purpled,
Pickled, and congealed, and taking their stock in coins
Piled up even headed in the cathedrals of the water fountains,
In the places that the truants mock,
Or make their love with their peering stock;
And it becomes for awhile, and it feels good, like the freshly
Mowed grass through the thorns of an unemployed
Conquistador’s neighborhood; just as it feels as if it
Has been all the while,
The pillars of emollition who say cheese for a smile.