Robert Rorabeck Poems

Panhandles filibuster, and I am no longer sure of where
I am now:
The silent creeks buddy together and sound so little like
The way I’ve spent time
...

The New Mexico’s song urges me further beneath the
Last song of the mountains,
And the field trips of the auburn planes, and the bed sheets
Of ways past like rusting gunfighters
...

Grasshoppers under the bridges of the same colors
Of the favorite colors of her eyes:
They are dark and dreamy and they go away;
And I don’t live here anymore: my words are for
...

The forts are crawling with delusion and with the
Spent fireworks of where we don’t belong,
Though Alma called me twice today over the insouciant waves:
She wants new breasts: she shaves,
...

The soup of my legs runs over the spokes of my
Bicycle; it feels as if I’ve been eating eggs with
Alma for breakfast again,
Even though I was alone for most of the day:
...

But green and here and now,
And looking up, her eyes are also doing the same;
It is the end of the class:
It rains; and her eyes are looking up like cenotaphs who
...

Airplanes, you are turgid but horny:
You fly low stretching your wings and pretending to yawn
Just to see who has arrived:
And the baseball diamond gets all cuckoo, as upon her bases
...

Imperfections waiting there,
And in the hall:
All of the locker combinations, and my father
Wants to borrow more:
...

Spinning and a trinket of colors,
Maybe somewhere still in the young valleys in the middle
Of adolescence,
When it was all sweating but demure;
...

Mute as the clouds, I hang over your body and
Pretend to be important:
I puff up my giants in great coloring books, but none
Of them coalesce and maybe it was real at
...