Robert Rorabeck Poems

Making sex with her will be
Like Disney World,
But she is only a parcel of it all:
The juxtaposition life gives for a 1
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Mornings come like kindergartens,
With fine and easy thoughts,
Like flowers simultaneously budding
And rippling in the schoolyard-
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I drink a little when I write,
To dull the pain and blind the errors,
To give a new shine to the crypt,
And put blue birds in the shadows:
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Dimes at the party:
Her cheeks pinched with gold-
They are holding her breasts like heirlooms in
The photos,
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I am well done:
Getting felt up, and filled up,
On the Disney World tram,
The ancient roller coasters, and parades
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I fantasize about houses
And sometimes her free flowing legs,
Which shiver in the fortitudes of Pentecost,
Like the sustained and bleary kiss
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Lamps are jeweled with the drool from a sleepy sky,
And I have told her to get off her knees,
But she was only checking my navel for the hibernating
Butterfly- When it flew away like a beautiful disease,
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If pain, then let it be slow like mercury-
Let it eat the moon in all of its hemispheres,
Entwine like beautiful barbed-wire glowing under the sea,
Time and time again around her neck,
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For just a little longer, pain,
To get what you want to, perhaps-
A year or two more with your dogs,
Your parents and their disapproving scowls.
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Pigeons high above the honking streams,
Smoke stacks in the cold chapped air,
Leaves as dead as the love I’ve never felt,
The bread trucks unloading stale loaves at
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