Of Things That Will Never Be Seen Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Merry-go-rounds of new and other words
That seemed to be going around just like this
Underneath the olive groves
In the curling sepulchers of Spain,
Another poet as well has gone amiss—
Amidst that massive times
Where airplanes throw themselves
Haphazardly over the wishing wells—
Like virgins go to movie theatres
Or empty parking lots in the rain—
They seem to be showing the movies to
Themselves of things that will never be seen again.