Robert Rorabeck Poems

Flowers given to pen names and other
Mirages—
The savage boys who wear headdresses of
The most religious feathers,
...

Houses of glad kisses strung out
Perpetually through the forest—
Greatly seeding the lost paths of vanishing children—
Here, they can find one last story for them—
...

Disillusions start out in
A bedroom drinking rum—
In a little yellow house made out of one brick
Of the sun—
...

Oh fantasy while I haven't been sleeping—
Another mirage of a muse I haven't know
Starts out her own way in the
Sky—
...

With all of the shadows bending,
And my dog looking again at me from the floor—
And all of the shadows healthy as
A newly cut Christmas tree,
...

Whatever, I leave the muses grazing in
Their own estuaries—Even my heart seems to
Ignore them until I drink
Rum and then I hear the music playing from
...

Wound is a vision that comes again
With the glass—
Let's open her up again, if only because
We have to go to the graveyards
...

Wound is a vision that comes again
With the glass—
Let's open her up again, if only because
We have to go to the graveyards
...

Failures of rum laughing to me and echoing in
My kidney,
Where my lips have been burying all of this horrendous
Gold of his heavy but untouchable sport:
...

Games are pleasures for white men in Africa,
Walking the footpaths,
Touching themselves in the mumbo jumbo of an
Easily spotted arcade;
...