Robert Rorabeck Poems

Going down again and making an easiness out
Of the incense of the gypsy camps I’ve seen grazing in
Alma’s eyes:
And I want to propose to her atop the hill we both surmounted
...

Somewhere here the pilgrims sleep:
They get boyfriends and rum, and you are already home,
Alma:
You have driven across the acclimated plains of West Palm Beach:
...

I want to walk to your house
Again, Alma, and sleep in the roofs and look down the blouses
Of the red throated mailboxes,
Because I have hit the conclusions again, Alma: but I don’t have
...

The highway is long and here:
There it goes like escargot whispering in my father’s ear,
And I never visit anybody’s house without watermelons.
And all of their spouses could breathe beside the pools
...

The words travel on out like vagabonds with their feet,
And you are already lying on down with your man, Alma
Like a vagabond butterfly who has found something to eat:
And in the morning you will have to dropp Heidi off at
...

Bodies are here and then they are not:
Souls are taking a vacation, and if I had prettier things then this
Then I would lay them across the knotted strings of marionettes
Across our fair and ventriloquist nation;
...

Maybe I made love to you and maybe there are still Ferris
Wheels, Or maybe I am just as drunk as
A gold fish in its plastic bag sold away from your golden
Silhouette at the fair:
...

Maybe like you say, you love him, Alma:
You love him, and these are your words.
The silent weeds who spread out like dancers before the cataracts of
The honeymoons of the sun.
...

I say I love you even as the petals weep and I don’t
Even know or not if you’ve been counting sheep,
And it hurts my soul that I had to lower my jaw and let you on
Hope, like the lowest scoops of the
...

I’ve been reading and filling in the gaps over
Your make believe Guerrero, Alma:
I’ve been listening to little girls who are walking down
The street
...