The Movie Theatres Of Her Own World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

While Plutarch thought of the angels of
A spell,
I thought for a while, while he thought of
Her—
Until they were all up in arms—
The miracle of the imaginations of
A Ferris wheel—
Turning around like the busses of the butterflies
Upon one single horn of
All of the unicorns-
Until the words failed, and they all fell off—
Dropped down to bed,
Through the chasms of the heroes
And the fjords—
Learned to make love with the purplest of
Angels—it wasn't a pretty sight,
But at least it was to their own accord—
Gumshoes of passersby trying to make a buck—
Beautiful women up to all of the angles of
Their tricks—
My wife not understanding a thing, but resting assured
That should would wake up
Again tomorrow into the movie theatres of
Her own world.