Their Forlorn Cacophony Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Unfitted, the zoo sleeps well concealed;
The bachelors are moaning their ghazals,
Their lungs are wheezing like sick balloons,
Since they can see her through their bars;
She is that opulent moon,
Fully formed, the distant transmogrify,
Who delights in making love in front of their lonely cages,
To everything else, and in that nostalgic expanse,
She whispers to them she whispers her tugging form,
Where the sea rises in sharp nipples,
And laughs with her in their pornographic truancies,
Dancing in the drunken bolero beneath her armpit
Until they are trapped in the flowing penumbra,
One part of her thighs which lays across their
Foreheads like a feverish hand,
Touching them with her distant interests,
Until they learn her name,
The hoary spikenard come aware in their throats,
And cry it out in their forlorn cacophony.