In A Courtship Of Nonsense Poem by Robert Rorabeck

It isn't that I want to live that way—like the sun
And the moon,
In a courtship of nonsense—like bodies pegged to
Bodies—
The billowing cadavers of another preternatural
Midway—
And always someone who is gossiping—
As they seem to be trying to make a tract of their
Shells—
Most of the time failing—sometimes doing some
Good—
But giving everyone else a hard time—
Yes, I believe—this is how it fairs, if it fairs so well:
Weather, foul or good, overhead—
Like over passes over the flea markets,
With all of the beautiful wives always going somewhere.