Lingerie Of Spider Webs Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Capturing the Golgotha in parks too
Pretty to sleep in,
I went out to become an actor I never became:
I rolled down from the high swings
In the cooing parks, and slept inside the empty trains,
And thought of you burning in your
Dresses:
Now you are in Colorado so high up as to be a prayer flag,
And I am holding myself to become two cheap kites who
Disembark symmetrically to scout for you
Riding Pegasus-like bicycles high above the petting zoos,
And singing to you that we would like to steal you away from
Your bird’s nest,
And build new nests with you, to resurrect our never figured
Out children in the hidden adulteries in the healthy green
Church yards,
To buy you refrigerators and unicorns and to listen to the whippoorwills
As I blow on the pinwheels and mandelas
In a brightening eucatastrophe resurrected in a bedroom of
Graves,
Like grandfather clocks stolen to feed fat and hungry sparrows,
And you wearing the lipsticks of all the mariposas in Mexico
And wearing a lingerie of spider webs.