Robert Rorabeck Poems

The day burns its yards: oh to the day,
Of magic books and the sixty degrees of vision
Given over to my brothers of this
Mirage,
...

Next time again I see you
Against the sun angel with bosom:
I want to fall on my knees for you and snack
Off your perfumes,
...

Fornication is nice
When the shadows are involved:
The rabbits pullulate in the aloe, rubbing off of
Hands,
...

Words respond to lovers
As the trucks move and move by themselves;
And I went to California for a week and then two while
I was very young
...

I am a quiet man: These are what I do,
What I say:
The clouds lay across the land.
You drive inside the cars: and I wonder what is
...

Gaslights glow like churches on the brink of the wood:
It almost seems that, yes, someone has been crying here,
Beautiful, wayward,
Girl from Appalachia with someone always following too
...

Little faces singing in the crepuscule of a
Doused ballroom;
Faces where gravity has its hooks; and they are singing
Folksongs:
...

Dreams are caracoled while I lay off in the shadows
Trying to do better work for you;
But your man is a fireman: he is a classical hero with
Big tits that bounce like dancing girls:
...

It is Easter Sunday and we are both
Happy about a green door,
And your husband is sleeping on the couch
The light box fibrillating and dousing him like the
...

They broke up and I shot my sister:
It was the eighties and everyone was playing on the
Beach.
The waves wore neckties. Writers drank waiting for their
...