Robert Rorabeck Poems

The colors who appease us, stay naked as the sun
Rides across them all day,
And the foliage curls like the tongues of little deer
For the salt of innocent palms,
...

Indifferent wildflowers pullulated by the
Stamens of anarchists,
As everyday in the vastly empty schoolyards I
Hoped to touch you,
...

My house, indifferent and yellow:
Yellow on the outside, yellow within: a beautiful yellow
In which to entrap Alma with these dreams,
To smear her skin with the wet postcards of my lips,
...

Now to get distracted and daydream up to the
Corduroys and cenotaphs of my visions:
If I play videogames, I know I will lose her,
But there are ever so many dungeons full of monsters,
...

Dying in the midday courts for awhile
We share ourselves as
We look up into the open and sunny mouths
Of feral gods,
...

Stranded through the years of my drunken
Hypoluxo,
You still might think me a little boy playing in the
Graveyards of my mothers
...

Nose bleed through my skeleton
And I will have to almost go to school tomorrow—
These blinds are getting dirty—
But these are the steps through the fitful night
...

The day estranges its silhouettes and I make due—
I just got over getting over you—
Paper airplanes flying over her eyes like twin diseases—
And the night is old hoarding her bosom of
...

A Christmas tree in a living room,
A maiden lost in a forest—
Words spoken from the top of an empty heaven
Having to call down to an overflowing living
...

Joined at the hip to your cathedrals of ill fish—
Legs keeping warm like match sticks in an
Exhibit of forest—
As everything else dies—as the fairs turn away—
...