Into My Arms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I am right here in another vineyard after midnight
Again:
I am pantless, and I am beginning to grow a gut,
The ceiling fans turn, but they are useless while the heavily golden
Voices sing,
Singing about the sinks, the graveyards of the repeating heroes:
And I wish that I had my own voice,
And better voices for this while so many gunfights were going down,
While so many tin starred badges were being thrown into the dirt,
But I have leapt so many times past Disney World that I cannot
Remember;
And now, Alma, this is another thing for you, because I want to feed
You and cage you in a cleaned house world:
I wish that I knew you,
And loved you through the brittle opulence of another Spanish
Holiday,
But now all of that is over, and this is Mexico- the dry world
Running over:
The borders of America singing like angels, waiting for your brown
Legs to leap like fairytales,
Straight over the crowns of barbed wire, and for you to come to me,
The ochre séance of another butterfly and to fall asleep right away
Into my arms.