In Some Backwards Story Time Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In the sabbaticals of light, lost daughters glaze:
Their mother’s fingers on the pedestals of a collegiate haze:
Rounding the points of a bosomy hill:
Go up to the steep slopes where angels bleed to fill:
A merry go round of forgotten
Tears, circling, areoled and waiting for the tears to fill
The voids of lamentations in the throats of
Astronauts choking themselves in the Mexican Laundromats
Just to get another point of view:
As I drive home from all my haunts on a flat earth that does
Not tear away at the end, that does not get novels
Published or remember its dear old friends lost in the cricks
Of the kicking glades- washed down stream with the freezing
Mermaids:
And here it all was spilled out so fine, like gold turned to
Straw in some backwards story time.