Robert Rorabeck Poems

As sure as there are contrivances in the moon,
There is this,
Or the confusion of the animals in the park all during school,
When the sun becomes paradoxically estranged,
...

The defeated spirits are as sure as their handlers
That I am not really here,
And the colors happen into the world from inside us,
As they escape like the breathing of misappropriated
...

Speakeasies in the wombs of pleasure,
And brownness in Alma’s eyes:
It seems so joyfully dangerous as I talk about her
When I sleep,
...

Now I have a blond and you have a blond,
And my house is clean and it has two bicycles outside
Laying in the zoetrope of dancing moonlight
And something else that cannot possible be seen:
...

Lay with me like trysts of gold and I will forget who
I am or that I ever loved Alma,
And we will hold hands and drink the sad breath of the
Ceiling fans:
...

Gunfighters and dancers not knowing who they
Are,
And I kissed Alma inside of her car, while all of the graveyard
Waited,
...

Burning in the yellow love,
Caving in the houses about their bruised ribs:
O, I smack her eyes and jab
And here the things that I cannot give,
...

Coloring in the vermilliad, they have a safe time
Talking with themselves:
The snow is hung over, the icicles have inched all week:
Libraries are closed underneath the heatless sun;
...

Calling out and giving away the hidden places,
With the fingers that can stop the games
And tell the truth of witchcrafts, that the bodies
Aren’t really here:
...

Gods pledge their songs to girls,
And I want my liver damage to pass beneath the
Tunnels
And the wind tunnels or Christmas, but all of this
...