How It Seems Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Imperfectly in a beautiful park: runaway underneath the
Lights of Ferris Wheels and a Spanish Heaven,
Singing to the armpits of those
Angels who fawn around the clouds, laughing right to the
Areolas of the up thrusts of land:
Pewter marionettes, as if promises of trees:
Boiling from the greenish cauldrons of satanic grottos:
Laughing the smoke of delusion:
While all of the prettiest of girls are kidnapped by the most
Churlish of foxes,
As the flags in their silly banners pester the tailfins of
Airplanes,
And then the pretty lips are let off the water fountains:
And all is seen: like opal:
The silver blue bellies of the fish showing like fireworks
Above or underneath the silent prayers of
Unmanifested dreams: as the children return home from school
Again,
Crossing the canals, blessing themselves even as their
Bicycles are stolen, and the foxes sleep with the mouthless
Marionettes in the ditches again- as always,
Or at least this is how it seems.