Robert Rorabeck Poems

In beside the Ferris Wheels like
Cathedrals over the tannenbaums shading the girls
Who don’t take off anymore,
But gather in the pews, coughing in a cloister of
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By the pictures of their high heels,
And laughing up past the carefully grafted cinderblocks
Who happen up from the lone and dusty yard-
The goldfish and the beaded curtains while a young couple
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Fibrillose like a centipede and counting backwards
From the laundry or the arcade,
Following the bred crumbs and the beer cans until your
Hair was yellow again.
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They drew marmalade and ponies and they wondered
Out amidst the yards until they regretted that there wasn’t
Any air-conditioning;
And the flies gathered around whispering like blue pig’s
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They drew marmalade and ponies and they wondered
Out amidst the yards until they regretted that there wasn’t
Any air-conditioning;
And the flies gathered around whispering like blue pig’s
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I’ll go off the path for you;
I’ll piss in the shadows and howl you
Name, but not just on holidays.
I wonder where you went on your honeymoon.
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I went too late to the party-
The evergreens were too full of herons,
Restive,
Not at the end of the migrations,
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Places of fealty in my soul have dried
Up- Are scars slathered with green algae the
Toads with sun stream eyes matriculate toward-
I put myself in the middle of pantheistic mountains,
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She doesn’t care,
The weathers I’ve made for
Her,
The fragile sun I’ve flaked from
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The television started with the scars of life;
They are always echoing, and my bed is full of
Dirt, this one and that one two.
From the slopes of the mountain’s angelic
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