The Prisms Of Sciences Collapsed From High School Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Put these call signs away in little cars—in shipwrecked vessels
Underneath the mountains
No one believes in anymore,
The pornographies of the unbelievers who live slip streamed
Amidst the pines,
In doll like houses of unfortunate rows
In days of anonymous ambiguity—
In the cathedrals of their hallways like holy vessels—
Or the semiretirement of a daydream while
I am still in Shanghai
And I have lost my hearing, but will go to the hospital
Again tomorrow and then maybe the game store,
If the weather is good—
My wife and one year old child will accompany me on
The subway—and my fifteen year old scars will
Dance like fire snakes with the shadows of a ceaseless world
That I must stumble back into every day—
Words yet the prisms of sciences collapsed from high school
While everyone else assured themselves that they were
Sleeping and this was only a dream.