In Your Dreams Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Oh, sure, the moon dreams of its
Pretty women and its pretty
Men,
But when will it dream of me,
If it is only one moon and there is only
So many faces in its month
Of cycles,
And only so many suburban dredges it
Can float across all at once;
But doesn’t it like to linger too where
There are no tourists,
Where the mountains run uncaged,
Spilling their guts down into your little
Christmas town,
And I really don’t care about what it dreams,
Always pregnant in its pauper’s
Row:
I want a golden canoe to lay you down
To float with you across the zoo of many seams;
That’s all I care to do-
F$ck the moon, I want to be in your dreams.