From Other Worlds Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Plaguing the newness of an intersection,
Song birds shift to the ladies' perfumes—where
They are going—
High-heeled in echoes—bodies like stairwells
Leading
To the accumulations of their senses in their
Parloring rooms—
Like a merry-go-round of orchards for the fox's
Zoetropes,
Like mirages in the desert, shimmering—
Cast from the fallen angels
And the touching down airplanes—
Everyday in their classes of daydreams—
Breathing through the mirrors of an ideology
That turns their beasts into kings—
And the sunlight falls upon them in birthmarks of
Windmills,
Not only from our familiar sun,
But from other worlds as well.