In The Ponytails Of Abandonment Poem by Robert Rorabeck

And I haven’t even been to Mexico-
And the silent thoughts are soon averagely undone
By fireworks in the ponytails
Of abandonment:
While you lean into him from the abandonment of a
Fairytale- and you kiss him,
Even if he cannot metamorphosis from a wolf:
You kiss him this way and that,
As the obese ballpark curses its insincere numbers
And tries to work out for itself why it cannot
Divide:
As all of the Indians turn out in the tobacco of billboards
While their silent and supernatural forests
Still seem to exist and to divide somehow
Through supernatural mitosis:
And they all seem to be going their own way-
As the daylight recedes over the picture perfect earth once
More,
And the housewives lumber half-hazzardly, fawning
With their hands upraised to their unequivocally buttered
Foreheads:
And their still-life of their half purposes is like
A Disney World: is like a dimmed light over their orchards,
Anyways, that they are trying
To burn out through their wishes:
They are trying to kiss again the inevitable apple of their
Truth,
As the sunshine burns through them like the troubadours
Of army ants through the sugary papers of another page:
Even if it all doesn’t happen to be real:
Because then it will all have to reawaken again- once
More into the purple armpits of the surreal-
Holding its breath and waiting for the sea to breathe
Again-
Like a serpent on its birthday- or like an insincere
Page folded into a love letter,
And made to send its way once again
across an embittered canal.