In Her Blond-Blonde Hair Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Corrupted into the grandeurs of the theatres of incents—
Of grandeurs of grandeurs
Of sounds that cannot rest—the hummingbird of a mockingbird
Seems to consist of the ringlets of the starlight
Of moonbeams—
And it goes around themselves—speaking of other heavens in
A different language—but once a midway must have used to
Exist here—lying in her daydreams and combing her
Blonde—blonde hair—
But now there are only graveyards being awakened by roller-rinks
And the spaces that never seem to survive in the vanishing
Never Lands—and more and more playboys are laid and laid- off
The girls—the girls just look more and more
Beautiful the younger—and the younger they get—
Well- anyway—well anyway—there is a well of enlightment
Somewhere and, otherwise—moon beams—and moon means—
Star crossed—and star crossed in her blond and in her
Blond-blonde hair.