Lutes played by satyrs from a graveyard of <br />Bonfires— <br />Across the streets, where all of the old pornographic <br />Magazines are stored: <br />Across the canal in a world my mother never <br />Opened her eyes to see: <br />Words on the wings of chameleon insects <br />That sleep in the nuptials of the wild <br />Arboretums: <br />Beautiful girls who have metamorphosed <br />Beneath the sand boxes in the land of the gossiping <br />Cats: <br />Places I have gone to while sleeping alone <br />Half of my life away, <br />Looking down from the second floor of a yellow <br />Studio apartment, <br />Watching the lesbians swim like fresh water otters <br />In a chlorinated exhibit— <br />The rest of the university spreading its patina <br />Behind them: <br />They row against one another as I am going with <br />A girl I do not love— <br />They sing songs to one another that do not <br />Exist anywhere else— <br />The diurnal dreams of their exhibits lasting <br />Half a lifetime between my ears— <br />As a succession of muses cross their airplanes before <br />My eyes: <br />Stewardesses who once molted fall to earth <br />And immediately join the marching band that is <br />Taking all of the prettiest boys I do not wish to <br />Remember to see their own reflections <br />Sleeping with the narcoleptic mermaids in the pretty sea.<br /><br />Robert Rorabeck<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mermaids-in-the-pretty-sea/
