Thesky Always Knows Poem by Robert Rorabeck

This body is so voluble that it explodes;
The busy intersections of the street do not have a notion,
While the day travels long ways,
And the pretty girls enter into it smelling of their potions:
The pullulating of their bodies along their less than average recourses,
Listen to the pats of rain under the hooves of race horses;
And I have no better ideas of their ancient men,
Though I knew that almost always that they were beautiful for them,
And now the monuments rise up and decide themselves of the sea,
While I fashion my distillations of bamboo sweetly underneath the overpasses,
While everyone else gets married, and then I mouth off and sell fireworks
In New Mexico, and the sky gets cantankerous and I hope to touch
Alma where the sun seems to slip between the pistils of her Chassis
In the places that only my dog can smell,
If I only had them again, but otherwise the sky always knows the best.