Strange Buoyancy Of Their Artificial World Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Echoing and echoing until Christmas comes
And the housewives recline in their living rooms,
And the sailors come on home
After hand feeding the dolphins in the immensity of
Sunlight
And, after it seems all of my beautiful words have been
Stolen,
Someone else forgives me, and the wimples of
Stewardesses lay across my body,
Serving me from the challises of their armpits and
Bosoms
In the strange buoyancy of their artificial world-
In flashy lures which tantalize the gods above the clouds.