The Stoplights Of The Lost Bedrooms Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I wish I could win another house in the waves
Like goldfish bagged underneath the moon
From the midways of this fairgrounds
As the Ferris wheel at first rises and then recedes,
Like a somnambulant elevator stuck to itself, unsure
Of any other words—
Scars that build underneath the stars and the time capsules
We keep buried in our front yard
Like a beautiful picture of a venomous snake,
Sinuous and about to strike across the swing sets underneath
The moonbeams: another thing that almost means
Almost nothing to us—
As the genie is always lost in her bottle in the waves—
Until there are cartoons in the busied afternoons of all of these
Tenements always going up and up—latch keyed
But looking beautiful, biting their lips like lost arrowheads
Tattooed high upon the semaforos—the stoplights
Of the lost bedrooms.