The Metamorphosis That Can Never Touch The Ground Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Cannot you just imagine
This slugfest of the dynamos—even if the crickets
Are not saying,
After the baseball game has just left the
Diamond:
And the gumshoes and sleuths are following
The sand of the beaches
Never imagining which way they are headed—
Never imagining what lies above them,
As beautiful as all of the weather:
Stewardesses high above them serving wine
As white as silver—
Women of the genie's harem bootlegging allegorically:
Them in their Siamese waterfalls—
Perfuming the vapor's bedroom,
Delighting above their sisters and the waves that
Want to know them.
They seem to be all wanting the very same thing:
As the sky just tries to rub them—
And the men who once wished to know them
Keep trying to turn them around,
But they are too high above them—
And this is the metamorphosis that can never touch the
Ground.