Robert Rorabeck Poems

You were my fiancé
And I loved your cleav-ge
Milky in the phosphorescent
Hiss of kerosene lights
...

Emolliating in the soft green prejudices
That I cannot understand,
And everyday awash underneath the mountain
With even the swiftest of arrows embedded into
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Don’t you feel that we really belong because
There are windmills in your eyes
Darker than for your mother’s sadness when she goes
Away into the loneliness in her kitchen:
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I should be writing novels about you:
You, you who never read, who's done nothing to
Help me stop doing this.
All you’ve kissed is my neck, and by doing so
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How, if you came by boat,
Where there nights of peace and tranquility
Between the sloughs;
And your beautiful reflection unperceived,
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Goddess, call me over to dinner in your
High basins, and I will drink your liquor, for it runs off
You as if you were always in the Spring,
And now you are laughing with your daughter while
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Proficiencies north and south of the
Mississippi,
All these lines I have drawn are the
Corrupt calligraphy
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Diana’s chariot caught afire,
And read listen here is a muse for higher,
And when she got down and
Opened up,
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This is a good sipping rum- I have dolls
From Haiti and Peru in my kitchen,
And chameleons that run through my yard-
When I was very young,
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Poem a version
Of what was mentioned to happen
In art class if I were divided:
And had the chance to hold hands with the girl
...