Robert Rorabeck Poems

The meadows are filled with sleeping children:
Whom else would they be filled with,
I don’t know:
I make footprints high up in the snow, even when I
...

Oh, Alma. Come with me,
And become unnaturally holy:
I will step outside and kiss your feet and say everything that
There is to say about this and now
...

Oh, Alma. Come with me,
And become unnaturally holy:
I will step outside and kiss your feet and say everything that
There is to say about this and now
...

This is how they helped the scores of the word,
This is how the swordfish and the seahorses tangled in
A ballroom of kelp and sunken heirlooms;
Or this is how it never happened, how it all drunk alone
...

My thoughts can hold no gravity to a vanished soul:
And looking down upon all of this graveyard and all of
Her plots,
The breathless mouth is open, but what will it sing,
...

Imperfections spoke out loud on airplanes
Fallen down so far:
I get back at you by going to see whores, but
I can’t even get hard:
...

I suffer alone, like a premature baby in an incubator,
And the pitch-fork pines lumber straight up
Outside my yellow house:
The few rooms are filled with the ghosts that other people
...

They had some powwow and they made a truce:
She has his initial tattooed on the brown web of her hand:
He used to beat her,
But it doesn’t matter: they held hands as they crossed the
...

Sabbaticals of nothing- the world slips around in a
A high fever,
Ostriches and unicorns sweat off their spells, and uniform
Airplanes seem to float
...