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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=575234" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Amusement Rides</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=575234" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It is happening in the cul-de-sacs in which all of the housewives<br>Spume: <br>Birthing new likely cadavers into the worlds from the shopping<br>Malls of womb-<br>It is happening like the sweet end that gladdens like espionage <br>Like sunlight across the amusement rides between <br>Two related mountains- swaying through the fruit trees<br>Who lounge in the sated glades like tourists all too happy to<br>Never have known her summits; <br>And it is a ride I gladly take with my paper dolls and marionettes; <br>They are of a finely selected sorority, but they always<br>Keep me company- across the playgrounds and the soccer<br>Fields, <br>The kilns of muses sent to the elements: as Alma basks her infantile <br>Shoulders beneath the lumber mills of all of the elements; <br>And sings herself to sleep over songs of her beauty, her infantile <br>Daughter nuzzling up to her, like a hungry bird up <br>To a water fountain in the hallways of an abandoned high school<br>Long after classes have started, mimicking, <br>And singing back to her across a millennium of trailer parks and <br>Plantations, echoing and re-echoing, I am sure, with the same<br>Exact eyes as her mother.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Bret+R.+Crabrooke">Bret R. Crabrooke</a></strong></div>