When The Dead Walk The Earths Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Used car salesman of kites and bric-a-brac
The tender fabrics of high school, but it has no
Fingerprints to remember,
The gentle molestations of slight penny-birds,
The wishes of housewives,
Lingerie slipping like the skin of a beautiful snake
From the surcease of her mind:
And where does she live, where does my heart
Fling like proverbial messenger bird on a string
Of unspooling copper wires, stolen from
The galvanized esplanade; but looking up into the
Sky it spells lightning,
And wild horses and fortified wines:
And it is a strange vortex of costume jewelry I am
Selling;
And it belongs to no cabalistic green eyes, though
It continues laying out more taught line, wishing for
Her Translunary amusements,
On holidays, or valentines, where the dead walk the
Earths and float in the skies.