Robert Rorabeck Poems

I just don’t care that there
Are so many people moving in my mind,
Given over to drink and conversational
Séances—That I cannot succeed with them
...

My great middle-class evil
Going out to lunch
And dinner dates,
Spending your monies wisely,
...

I’ll win because I’m not real,
And I’ve been doing this for so long,
Putting cheeks on my scars,
Scars on my cherries,
...

Scars, cars, and traffic signals,
And steps down:
Empty cities now, going into one thousand
Acre graveyards,
...

The more beautiful woman they are,
The less they could care about my job:
That I haven’t been published in
The Atlantic Monthly,
...

Quiet, quiet
Slow to seep
Weeping oil
Go to sleep
...

Do good work now,
Knowing that by sunset the vessel will be emptied;
And if the voyage is not epic,
Let it be familiar
...

I want to flatter myself until I’m dead,
And raise up gray-haired Lazarus
And thank the Lord,
And scratch my pen:
...

Campaign for my scarlet letter,
My love, my love, my dinosaur:
And I’ll come back and be your lover,
Your first crush, your index finger,
...

If you put me here,
Then this is where I’ll live;
And workout,
And shave- And hang my things out
...