Red Meat Hearts Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Ants without liquor rejoining through the grass:
Soon it will be raining and muting the bed of their queen,
The way things happen to guitars left in the bluing grass;
But they are happy because it will mean that they
Should leave off the junked cars of their blue collar pornography,
And go marching down to her luscious antechamber
And court her quite successfully
with the successions of their red meat hearts.