Robert Rorabeck Poems

The work is really about the work, they sing:
The young punks with Mohawks and hair-lips.
Tree frogs jeweled in heliotrope, they sing. The
Epitaphs they give these graveyards in mass, our song,
...

Tumbling through the orchard’s sea:
Tumbling, tumbling tumbler;
Now you can’t say what I am looking for-
That I am looking for her who the mountains
...

Spikenard is a beautiful thought,
As the two year old bottle hit’s the lips,
And maybe this is what I should have been
Waiting for
...

I will think of you until the
Day I die,
And not one thing but the kind ocean
Eulogizes my death-
...

I drink beer and eat cold hamburger.
Romero bought all of these airplane beers,
And I down them while I try and figure out
What to say:
...

-ucked up despotic universe burnished
In cruel despotic time,
You’ve really got it in for me,
Given me the bad-luck of dysfunctional rhyme,
...

Yellow rainbows smile upside down from
Cheap liquor bottles
In those retired rodent neighborhoods where dogs
Take charge
...

Not entirely silent pain- but nothing very educated-
I lay footloose down the runny easement, and by
Alligators am I congratulated:
And barmaids go around twirling brindled in their bars,
...

The weather is brave but a slave to baseball,
And I like that kind of weather for this
Time of year,
Because all the aspens are naked, opalescent
...

Christmas ornaments strung out and smashed
When they were supposed to be up on stage
Garlanded and thrashing for
The miracle play- and you said it was going to
...