Treasure Island

Robert Rorabeck

(04/10/1978 / Berrien Springs)

When I Write


When I write I write
Maybe an hour or 2 a day
but the #s stay with
Me like lead
From my fingertips
Seeping deeper
Ink on my lips
My face molts
I rust
When I write the feeling
Creeps through me like
The morning after too
Much alcohol
Cold shivers a mirror
I can’t get it out of my face
And her
When I write
She turns on over my bed
A lamp shaped like a leg
Filled with effervescing
Beer and drunken fish,
Possibilities,
Prizes,
Games
And carnivals
When I write God puts
Her rib back into me
The first pain
Her breath in me
Her love in me
When I write I can’t get
Her out,
And it would be okay
If I had her,
But I don’t even know her number
When I write her favorite
Color is blue
When I write she only
Wears a fig leaf
And my fingers
When I write
Her fingers tear apart
My temples
Like rotten fruit
When I write
God flies for hours my
Teeth taste like microwaved metal
When I she’s just
There
She’s just there the next door
Over
When I write
I cup her breast
Oh, God, how long it’s been
When I write for just an hour
It’s all it takes
And she’s with me all day
Nakedness and beautiful eyes
And milk and sweat and
Redness and the places on her
I put myself
When I write
When I write
It’s like mercury settling
In a crown around my temple
Silt
Gently
Higher and higher
When I write I’m Harvey
Silver
Jack Micheline’s alter ego
Jewish actor
Rimbaudian misfit
When I write
I’m with her
When I write I’m burned
Through Bukowksi’s fire
When I write I’m in Michelangelo’s
Fresco
Reaching out for God
His hand the promise
The self I lie in when
I write
She’s in my mouth
I can taste her
It’s just too much not to have
Her
I put the pen down to
Spit her out but I’ve
Already swallowed her
Candy poison
When I write
It’s like being inside her.

Submitted: Wednesday, January 25, 2006

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Comments about this poem (When I Write by Robert Rorabeck )

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  • Adryan Rotica (1/26/2006 12:59:00 AM)

    Haunting and beautiful Robert......your hearts still smoking and your yearning reminds me of the story, ''The Notebook'...writing, connects you to her...... and your constant force will draw her back to you with your consistancy....a charming poem...~ (Report) Reply

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