Robert Rorabeck Poems

We can’t get married- the little princess tells me everyday,
Brown and dizzy, like Pocahontas on a seesaw,
Braving all of the elements that took her here across Mexico:
Now she wants a boob job
...

Ailing beauties taken at the cost of sherbet:
Lines at unsanctified weddings stretching around the block,
Yawning like colorless fireworks:
Girls with retainers tossing newspapers to drams of
...

Creams of eerie pastures- the delicacies behind open
And nude glass,
Like fixtures of lime trees beneath which the stranded mermaids
Bask,
...

Standard recesses of henchmen at play,
Finally lose their footing underneath the canopies of
Horse trailers returning to the blooming splinters
Of their home towns:
...

Nights fanned around the higher enclaves of
Pitch fork pines: you can see them rising, transplanted out of
Merry Old England into South Florida
With all of its bustling news: old gods and new gods spanning
...

The trains seem to peel good in unicorn
Season:
Offering up their goods in linear cavalcades in open
Aired processions
...

Saboteurs are right beside where I left
Them,
And all that is Christmas: Alma is taking the day
Off tomorrow,
...

Enmeshed for Pocahontas in the Bible Belt
Underneath the breasts of
Colorado:
Doing my thing by the canoes pulled like lucky
...

Enmeshed for Pocahontas in the Bible Belt
Underneath the breasts of
Colorado:
Doing my thing by the canoes pulled like lucky
...

Imperfect as a body glorified by the iron struts of
Day:
Selling the heirlooms of Christmas trees:
The traffic causally articulating to the grass along the
...