Robert Rorabeck Poems

I want you to come over here
And plunder my trousers—
Don’t think about it or
...

Imperfect as my insincerity- soft nimbus whispered or
Blown across the shell,
Lost in her childhood, like the kittens in the rattlesnake’s
Belly,
...

Words in picture books have less meaning- accompanied
As they are by the sweet verification;
As herons are fencers in the park where childhood still gets
Up through its blazes
...

Folded up into a showroom of our bodies:
Boiling cadavers over spilling for pirates at the beach:
Old words found on the lips of
Trailer parks-
...

Here is a new river, bubbling- making love with
Gold light underneath the apple trees
Where the truants go to get freckled and to steal away from
Each other every day:
...

Maybe you don’t remember this time:
With the sun going down, and the ponies heading home:
That I cut myself looking at you,
Even as the rest of the people discovered so much gold.
...

Maybe you don’t remember this time:
With the sun going down, and the ponies heading home:
That I cut myself looking at you,
Even as the rest of the people discovered so much gold.
...

Fish speared by a wounded dream, taking her
Away from me-
The cost of hours upon the house, whose dousing
Charade sinks into me-
...

Ventilation seeming smoke, curling baseball players
To the moon:
Where the airplanes go anyways, arms like clocks spinning
Upwards in the windmills that glow red hot:
...

Ruined as I go this way singing to my
Tomb,
Over foxes in love with their prey: little things getting
Littler ever day:
...