Beautiful Silhouette Who Doesn'T Feel Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Everything fails this way; it is all I’m doing,
Crying out to you in the bent censer of swings:
These trees, long armed, beseeching don’t
Care- The cherry of my cigarette an ashy searchlight-
The ghosts of little sisters on the merry go round,
The runaways sleeping upside down in their stolen car:
But I don’t care to find them;
I am only looking for you, trying to perceive the flight
Of green eyed angels who can spread their capes like
Superman above the Nordic foliage and go anywhere:
And I am an old man, drunk on soul, who has been caring
For you for so long; since kindergarten when I saw your
Eyes vacillating as I stole plastic bicycles from the paper
Pirate chest:
And your name is the sweet water that gives vampires tooth-
Aches,
And I love you, but you don’t care- You are not here;
You are not even in the trees, but alone with your daughter
In the mountains, sharing your eyes with a bespoken dress
That turns you swiftly around, granting nobody wishes,
A beautiful silhouette who doesn’t feel.