They passed away this time with the <br />Nearing of Spring; there were no more <br />Undiscovered lovers sleeping in the grottos, <br />In the fault-lines of continents, <br />And the dictionaries carried like <br />Newborns in the wisest of hands <br />No longer held the slightest of meaning, <br />And even hummingbirds were too big to understand, <br />Where they lay suspended, <br />Motionless above the wilted lips of consciousness; <br /> <br />For here everything was clearly mapped, <br />Raped by the cartographers and put out on the streets, <br />The war was settled and the dominate race had won, <br />Now busy fucking new buildings miraculously <br />Into being along great highways where <br />Young children shot out of the <br />Thighs of sexy automobiles, and <br />The face of God on every billboard as the <br />Families caravanned to see the undead wonders of <br />Disney Land, down 75 where alligators lay nude in <br />The shadows, waiting for sunlight for miles around <br /> <br />The Father and Son selling sports cars with <br />Full color ads in Bibles, and their smiles toothpaste, <br />With the asphalt charisma that entombed the naiads <br />In the sea; they would all get laid out back on <br />The dirty straw beside the camels and wise-men <br />When their shifts ended and the plates of the earth <br />Moved ever so slightly, making little protest.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/plate-tectonics/
