Into A Bosom Of A World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Soft moonlight in a movie theatre
And kisses-
Touching over the handicaps of the senses:
And it is alright,
And the girls are out again- what are they doing
Over the lilacs,
Or on their ways down the highway:
I wonder if they will ever see the special forts
Underneath the moonbeams
In the trances of simulacrum: and I wonder if they
Will ever make it to shore again,
Talking to themselves in the theatre,
Hungry over the zoetrope of their metamorphosis-
Yet trying to figure out what they saw:
Wondering into the noontime
Topless, calling for their old lovers:
Only the crocodiles come, o
Insatiable over the remote control boats, as
The light fibrillates in its hopeless amusements,
And the tourists take their turns,
And then they take their turns again- over and
Over, leaving us to wonder with the tadpoles
In the spit and drools of
Suburbia and with its housewives,
If there is any sort of permanence- and waiting
For whatever change to occur
And call us permanently into the bosom of a world
Which lingers onward.