The Ferris Wheels Of The Tallest Forest Poem by Robert Rorabeck

They have maps and black skin
They leave peeled on the hedgerows-
As on their fences,
And this is just another song, uncountable
In their numbers,
As they’ve been singing and crying again:
Crying
And masturbating and spending their
Monies to the wolves,
As the fires kick out all night-
And the dogs dance like pedophiles,
As I suppose I have no right to be here,
Underneath the savage lights,
Standing on my feet underneath the restaurants
Where your mothers clean dishes-
Transported all the way from Mexico,
While the skeletons grin-
And the spaceships faint beneath the heavens:
And I’ve just been trying to give
You this rose
In between the commercials and through the
Mirages of the desert: I’ve just been trying to sing
You my old song,
And escape again to kiss the lips of foxes
Who sleep here underneath the Ferris wheels of
The tallest forest, slumbering in the dreams of runaways
Where I still hope we belong.