Our Delusion's Heartbeat Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Busied from the crenulations of another heartbeat—
We pilgrims start out by making love from our
Side of the blue abyss—
The traffics streaming by into death: they cannot tell who
Is in charge—But now it is assured—now that our art
Has found itself-
And combined itself into the union that all of the angels
Know underneath the sun's armpit:
For a while there was beauty inside the carnival of
Semipermeable truth—and it stretched out,
Affecting us like a beautiful woman walking the street
Without any shoes—
And then for a while there wasn't another soul
On the street—
And we found ourselves lying like cats—tawny,
Mewing for princes in our strokes of
Heat—in their castles of asphalt and graffiti—
Never mindful of our delusion's heartbeat.