Robert Rorabeck Poems

Who cut down the celebrities,

The limbs of method acting wither
Along the path weeded with stars,
...

The verbs are broken:
See how they hang out giving
Purpose to nothing,
Smoking in the van through
...

I failed gym,
But I climbed the highest mountain
When the rest if the class was studying:
In kindergarten
...

Somnambulists cutting hair with sexual charm
Walked into the student barber shop on 13th St.,
Across the blackface cops raise taxes in the ghetto,
Say I look like a writer: I, look like a writer, shooting range
...

In this night the subtle stabs impermanence:
Her lips down open,
They wear blue foreboding:
In the morning, they may speak whispers to inspectors:
...

If the phone is ringing:
It is a baby crying,
Then it is a banshee bleating:
Something competing in the
...

Doves as innocent symbols:
You wear them as tattoos,
Services whose job differentiate
The bodies of souls,
...

Little boys run in blue shirts
And black shorts on brown walls,
Of rooms of missing girls
In New Jersey
...

The lighthouse is painted nicely
In a coat of white, a tie of red:
Standing upon the rocks of many seas
Across the world,
...

How can I give you more of this ever failing verse?
I pick a line for you, it withers before it reaches your lips.
If I do not pick something beautiful enough,
You grow inattentive,
...