Robert Rorabeck Poems

Here is the joy that makes no sound,
The pleasure given to a lover
With duck tape over her mouth-
The blindfolded surprise led down
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If you go all the way back
You may seem them making love
At the end of the woods,
Where the wolves hunt unclothed,
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Show us how to see the colorings your dreams wear,
When you travel far away
Across the silent land your eyes hide when resting.
Find a way so that we can come with you,
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These afternoons are going by
Like the steady stream of jetliners
At your uncle’s air show:
And you are still just a kid,
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Now this mouth is almost dead.
Painted up,
It has said what it could,
In the language taught to the ear,
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Pals in opposing sexes
When in agreement
Slap lips
Tongue twist
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The queer duck
Wants to f*ck
The cement truck
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As soon as Alice died
She transmitted to her daughter
Her last recipe:
Barefooted,
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Beneath our house
The wolves are eating the dead horse
Who fell down the hill.
Like Jack with two left feet
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If you sneak into my house
With your fire-ax
And cut off my head
While I am sleeping on the couch,
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