Robert Rorabeck Poems

She has whims, and they change
While I drink sake:
She wears all of my white gold I bought from her
Aunt,
...

Down at the powers of guilt,
I drink my fill with my reindeer and the jack a lopes;
And the really retches wanders come it,
Thumbs stiff from fornications with scuppernongs,
...

It is not all good, and it is getting even more dangerous
From here:
And it just keeps falling up and up like whatever moonlight it
Was upon the crenulations of her skirt:
...

In arcades of sweat and bad math, we do this
Again,
While the night just makes the sound of cats making love:
It is a naturalistic way to go:
...

Even this house doesn’t sadly wonder
Of all the creatures with eyes:
Eyes,
Who are wandering, fixated, opened eyed,
...

The roses grow up:
They learn their way: they get straight up
And do the day:
They go to town, they make love too:
...

Fleet as the cannons go, coughing their verbs
Through the melting snow:
As it happens right here, along the long drooling jaws
Of the hermaphrodites
...

Fleet as the cannons go, coughing their verbs
Through the melting snow:
As it happens right here, along the long drooling jaws
Of the hermaphrodites
...

Oh, the black knuckles fought with orchids
Of the dwarves of semiprecious high school:
While I only thought of myself, and I curled that way:
And I got up late and I missed the bus:
...

It doesn’t happen that I am here and counting down
And brandishing magpies in my cathedrals,
And becoming all of the otherwise thoroughly unhooked,
And making love to the misaligned maypoles of the acolytes of
...