Robert Rorabeck Poems

A field fills up like a city with so many stars
Lost from the bedrooms of spaceships,
But these words just become latchkeys for foxes
And homaphones—
...

A field fills up like a city with so many stars
Lost from the bedrooms of spaceships,
But these words just become latchkeys for foxes
And homaphones—
...

Now I have a mask and typresets but
It will not be halloween—not even tomorrow
And I am in China
Not in Paris with a muse,
...

Nicknacked by the busybodies whom do not drink—
While I am in Shanghai having insociant dreams of
Living back in Arizona—
...

Open wounds lying on their sides,
Paper airplanes wilting in the garden,
Beside the carport and beneath the roses:
And all day metamorphosis
...

Reptiles moving in their viaducts,
As airplanes in each section of their airy road:
Manned by girls I once pretended to know from
Latin Class:
...

The tigers and kidnapped children,
Paint by numbers the clouds
That are above the islands—
They dissembark but remain close to where it is
...

Fasions of playboys in their cemeteraries
And we all tried to start out from here in the plumping hills:
I seemed to call your wife to my neck,
But then it turned out what I was feeling wasn’t real,
...

Never tarrying for werewolves, the roses bud:
Over castles tormented by rain,
Over tattoo parlors,
Over the inparticular ammenities that cannot spell:
...

There is a science up in the air given over to
Juvenility and lunch trucks—
As beautiful girls are given to their men,
Like the sacrifices at the ends of their dusty roads:
...