Robert Rorabeck Poems

I will go then like a doll in a park into the sea
And waiting for you,
Drown or burn in that enshrouded estuary with memories
Of the cars that passed by us as we kissed
...

I like your eyelashes drunkenly in the carports
Where my mother almost drowned:
The rain listening to my efforts—drowning in
The rebar:
...

Plagiarism in your hands is not love—
It is a simulacrum underneath the French mountains
That will never metamorphose
Fooled by a cat or a fox that you are coming home,
...

Houses grid by canals lined out in a peaceable world,
Ennui schvitzing, and I used to be a truant articulating on the
Swings of this
Inconsequential masterpiece: I suppose I thought I was
...

The get up to school and work
Traffic soft now, coming into the cone of my senses-
I lie on a bed of recompense; I think cemeteries
And jewelry stores and junk heaps where a mugged dancing
...

Poems for grown up boys who still like the look
Of their mothers:
Hot rooms too without air conditioning- usually unusual thoughts
Can grow,
...

How rude the cross to lay dreaming in golden
Filigree on Monday
While in less than an hour Alma will be cleaning things in the
Fruiteria:
...

The mountains go up and up until they hug themselves
Shivering in the cold and open throats of playboys;
We have climbed up here to see how little that they are selling,
To see the whole jubilance like matches teasing the fire,
...

What is the space underneath a swing set—
It seeming forever at leisure in the park beside the sea:
Underneath the sun in his days—
Becoming a fenced off illusion where the grass grows
...

I have placed you here in the rainstorm beside the pool—
Made you into the aestheticism of
Things that cannot spell:
I have lost you here, and listened for you for a long while:
...