Robert Rorabeck Poems

A grandfather clock is saying something
Atop your roof, underneath the clouds: but if you
Were listening
Would you hear it underneath the helicopters whose
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How can you never think of all
The busied flowers underneath your sink
Dozened into a scattering of vermilion
Seeds the sun in the sky winked love into:
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A sea that never feels has drifted away,
Sad into the changing yards outside of the wharf-
And the lips who have tasted
The sangria underneath the orange blossoms have said nothing
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Kinetic and full of banished frenzy
With another queen in her tower, and I am only
Keen to so many words:
While the horses run as if they were the traffic
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Now I have a new tomb generally right here
Next to the railroad cars next to the elephants being loaded
And underneath the mountains I once thought
To climb to pick the vineyards of the lightning,
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Dollar for dollar at the spotless cathedral for
Unicorns- becoming disbanded through the intractable
Union of my thoughts- her hands of green
Scars like paper sailboats across the grass- and in our
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In them houses stilted moon light unto
Which I’ve run away-
My father asking for money: money,
His horses stamping hoof prints in the clay:
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Bags of gold fish breathing hard
Over my shoulder as a won gift, as
Required- and the moonlight dull, but in
Charge,
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Bags of gold fish breathing hard
Over my shoulder as a won gift, as
Required- and the moonlight dull, but in
Charge,
...

Feeling a new flow of virtue underneath my wings
As it continues on- on,
As far away from my window as I can, counting into
The numb lips of the previous cadavers
...