Robert Rorabeck Poems

There are cowbells in the high basins,
In the guts of grizzly bears, in the wombs of
Sometimes stormy and sometimes yellow
Mountains;
...

Roads into narcolepsy:
Returning into that land after all of the fireworks
Are sold,
And their holidays forgotten in their fashion:
...

So many prospects of cold emblems
Yawning against the fires beneath the overpass-
What do they dream about
While the trucks sell tacos to little girls metamorphosed
...

Apples of poison above her
Auburn head: barrettes in her hair, and airplanes
Flying low:
Her lips stung now by jacketed wasps
...

Another day finding out the tricks of angels:
My muse’s daughter is almost three:
Maybe she is almost my daughter too- as the trucks
Are loaded and loaded underneath the
...

Trailer parks of my ancestry where nothing ever
Closes,
But nothing ever gets done on time,
Because everyone is enjoying the Ferris Wheels
...

Now you have here a blue Cadillac without any
Angels in the carport like a
Grotto,
And your mother is here, barefooted and still very
...

There was the Alamo somewhere underneath
The sun
And forgotten boys underneath the sun
And horses they would ride
...

Now they have them cadillacs filled with
The various pornographies underneath of where
The airplanes live,
.Just as my muse has her families in the buried
...

In the clefts of purple monuments that don’t
Belong here anymore,
While she is arraigned in her homely tenements
And the mountains
...