In A Womb Of Stars Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to be black in a womb of stars
In order to know the catastrophes of your falling airplanes
And womb of rattlesnakes:
And I want to know just where I cannot belong, spilling
Out from the epiphany of waterfalls
At the exact moment the god you believe in cries:
And I have been trying to pleasure myself even while you've
Been up to no good—my sport already lit in the wicks of
The fireworks you sped away—after I was already too busily
Breathing underneath the amphitheaters
Spilling out their patrons into the streets of the joys
We could not have—after all there was only so many words
And so many afternoons spent after school—
Video games and labyrinths and places we never believed
In—after we were collected into the evenings of home—
And your father got back together with your mother
Momentarily-
And sang of all of these festivities—of these bright lights strung
Over the alienations of our radioactive tombs.