What have I to say, speaking to the fading colors <br />That enfold the corpse of roses; <br />And even I am not here: bound up, and taking orders, <br />Driving around on roads with names without <br />Lovers, <br />Like fish trying hard to learn how to spell- even if the <br />Angels awaken before the first bell, <br />And school arrives, and beauties get tardy for running <br />Their honeys over the fire engines and beehives: <br />It is all supposes: <br />The recesses of tombs a musical held over- lightning floods <br />The sky in the brevity of held over kisses: <br />It is gone like the motions in an eye, as it engorges: <br />Pallid tombs of exlovers and tomboys <br />Run over- the monuments looking high upon themselves: <br />Stalwartly, hung over, <br />Like hands running over themselves at picking time, <br />Limbs and brambles of bodies hunched over, never recognizing <br />The weather flooding through the bowers, causing criminy <br />And laying down all the blooms of their flowers: <br />So that the teardrops can pass by, falling into the baskets <br />Unwoven from spouses who are not there- they are not even <br />At home, unwaiting, but in the feverish corpses of living dreams, <br />Like suns that run like yoke with the does and with the buses; <br />And it gives a breakfast to the meaning of the sadness of <br />Things, <br />Like baseball diamonds emptied by a schoolyard of empty hours.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/schoolyard-of-empty-hours/
