The Doubtless Highways Poem by Robert Rorabeck

So I took her, and then I took her to the science museum,
Back and forth foreplay through the marbleized bestiaries,
And the early marbles of the habitats of
Toothy spacemen:
And I took her, and I took her to an art gallery, and she laid down
Her head and looked up at a ceiling chatter-filled with the
Blown glass amusements of the sea life from
The woebegone mind of some estranged artist,
Searching for her,
My own brown muse that I had found, and kissing and blowing,
Stoked,
Into a Ferris Wheeled reason to survive; and here she was,
Mostly on Tuesdays, coming like a brown sun into my yellow
House,
Conquering like a little Mexico, her legs the conduits of a windmill,
Like fireworks who couldn’t even believe in themselves:
And the roofs still arose, or they seemed to arise,
And yet we were making newer finer pinpoints that articulated
Straight up through the heavens,
Like the pornographies of smoke signals, that frightened the
Cadavers in their marble graves, and put the mouthy fear into the sky
That perhaps it had fallen after all, and lay there
Like a carpetbagger finally exhausted and thoroughly metamorphosed
Alongside the doubtless highways that heedlessly tore asunder.