Robert Rorabeck Poems

I prefer to drink,
All alone and all night long,
Slowly like a love letter kindled on the logs,
Like a little girl on a swing set all alone,
...

Animal traps and quivers.
These baldheaded bulldogs give me the shivers;
All alone in some humid park,
Listens to the waves crochet long after dark-
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I don’t have anything left,
Riding on the coattails of grandpa’s pantheism,
I plagiarize the sea,
But I still can’t stare at pretty girls;
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How to break this form- Fall in love with the
Great abstainer, two horns; ride the riverr too tough
To cross, pillow fight angels:
I still want to skip school, receive my degree from the
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Be a word, or bright thing,
Light-bulb, pillow-fight of pumice
Light:
Imitating a young Frank O’Hara,
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Going down to do myself, cruelly;
Everything you told me was a thrill-
Amusement parks,
The sounds for dogs, and boys with
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Curious air balloons flatulent over the heads of
My Fair Lady;
They are starring her in a prom of swamps and air-plants;
And there’s a better name for it, where I eat alone,
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Wherever you are you can make
A go of it,
If you ask your government or mother for help;
And there’s cold beer if the fridge,
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These psalms, these psalms, they are holding
Mass for better Catholics,
Mowing couples swing like censers, smoky, unreal,
The dying Italian bourgeoisie;
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If I could drink more liquor, I would write
More romance, the bottle is good for want of woman:
The bottle is good when you are all alone:
And the city is busy and made of coral foam,
...