Robert Rorabeck Poems

Patterns of apertures and loss.
The ship’s guts spill the diamonds into the waves.
For a second,
The fish glitter unexpectedly before
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Contraptions of unpaid for love are
Ambling hurdy-gurdy across the endless desert;
The background of her skull, turned away,
Another rhyme misled into the mouth of the crocodile
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Bruise me again against the starless sky,
So that I might feel asymmetrical couched in the damp pines;
I can see your jocund face in the fusing light of a cigarette-
You friends surround you like a fraternity of hazy secrets
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Cars are running on fingers of diamonds and loose change.
The woods are humming a catchphrase you don’t know.
Down the easement on the left,
The forest-blue barge is taking a young Adam to a new affair;
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Congratulations on your downward spiral,
The self replicating coils of the inky stairwell
Disappear into her bindi,
Sinkhole the mortgage floorboards all the way
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I am drained by people,
And the subtleties their eyes can put upon a body,
The small business adventures they go on,
When the sky is open to them like a freshly eaten shell.
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Rejoining through the sabbaticals of wonder,
Every day in a glorious prosthesis: how I hold you without
Even feeling,
Not even coldness- the day pigeonholed with these rays of
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Ants without liquor rejoining through the grass:
Soon it will be raining and muting the bed of their queen,
The way things happen to guitars left in the bluing grass;
But they are happy because it will mean that they
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Days and days of fieldtrips for stallions where everyone is
A winner:
Now I wonder if I will ever win, down at the dog track where
The unicorns surrendered;
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If I knew how cars could park through the city
And into dark,
And the love they had made inside of them, the evaporation
Of steamy legs;
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