Touchdowns That Surround Her Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fruit market in the sunlight without any other muse:
Daydreams through the bright spokes
While I don’t have anything else to lose: the government
Hardly pays anymore with the airplanes touching
Down- the private enterprises
Of angels spilled out across the frontiers that no longer
Have to believe anymore:
There they are all laid out in numerous cornucopia
While the apples of her delight never even had to spell
The world, but we are all awakened by her lips
Eventually, while she bights into the perfumed
Meat and swears: there is her country left behind her:
There, like the fireworks as if unlit,
And the other scars that could not be trained by circus
Trainers, and yet I may very well survive it:
There she lays, perpetually semi naked underneath the slants
Of her window- inside or outside of his arms:
He who fathered two children inside or at least around her,
While I remain still troubling in my fits-
Lost in the flight delusions which still whisper her name,
And which still hold something more than mere
Delight by lighting their wings
And make touchdowns that surround her.