Robert Rorabeck Poems

Filmed on the libido of a firefly,
The storm flared up as the lovers went inside:
After the honeymoon, and down from the mountain,
They thought to drown again underneath the moon,
...

I am a good boy and I get up from an early
Number from my slumber,
And I say to the kissing teeth of the vipers
That from my windows
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There they go marching like ants through
The green courts beneath the echinopsis where before
Their words were once beautiful and
Read by kindergarteners-
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The foundations of your barcodes look good
From here- they seem to be sleeping in their windowsills,
Just like the wives you have chosen
While the traffic drives all night, especially the trucks
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They had friends who made love for
A little while arm and arm beneath the cars in between
The middle of their classes
Like turtles eating orchids- and they sang to her of
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Juvenile doves enjoying the architectures
Of their jaundiced neighborhoods:
They don’t even believe the air will support them,
But they start off:
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Jumping for joy, the waves jump above the fire hydrants
And the sailfish jump
As if pooled by the looming moonlight, or something about
That night anyways,
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Pretty words for flowers
Lost at the fingertips of an idiot:
Words for flowers
Repeated to fire-trucks, but they
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Tombs of rattlesnakes shaking rainstorms
In protest and jasmine after the tanks are all closed,
And even the cars have
All stopped their driving:
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This bed of pearls sequesters
The little eels- the black urchins- the jewels
Of black eyes
And thunderstorms underneath the busses:
...