Robert Rorabeck Poems

Open fair of wounded hearts taking too long at
Playing their game,
And caught in the harsh reality- they pullulate like
Gold fish
...

They made love over brown railroad tracks;
And in the web of her left hand,
Just as brown- as if she’d just come from playing
Baseball,
...

The calendars are fraudulent over my body-
They say what time of the year it is,
As if playing a game of cards- as the brown body of
My muse, crossed over the thresholds again
...

Perhaps unicorns will have to come this
Way again,
Said a cloud to a cop- and better words that the
Aspens stole,
...

Filled to the brim of egrets,
The clouds lose their surface looking down
At the paper airplanes stuck having crossed
The other side of the field:
...

They were selling all of the pleasantries to look
At the moon:
Up there were the trophies of her stolen gifts
Which made the foxes pregnant
...

Here is the washing machine, turning around
With the sun going across the street-
About like a pinwheel on a journey- rum on my
Lips,
...

Wrapped inside the cages of hedonistic
Byways, looking for the hemlock of the anniversary one
Last time,
At least I can say I kissed her lips and held on to
...

They were unsure of how beautiful they really
Were until the liquor was all gone,
And the body of my old muse was coming up browned
From her bed-
...

House how yellowed, and how quieted- sometimes even
The hush of airplanes- and how many
People have lived here- eighty-five years of people-
Homosexuals and sea-shells:
...