Robert Rorabeck Poems

I’ll go back home to the love joys
In the sessions of hypnotism in their kindergartens,
Breathing like goldfish in paper bags
With their hands on the handlebars of plastic bicycles
...

Trucks burn through the forest
Where wolves sleep:
The sky is blue; the carport is green and there
Are virgins in both of those places:
...

Her water colored bicycle has many dreams
Of pin-ball, and ping pong, and pool;
I used to sit across class from her and pretend
That I could know her in a swimming-pool
...

How innocence wanders the innocuous highway,
How, bearded, he dreams of the thigh he’s
Never touched,
As he sleeps in the weeds like a disposed general
...

As I interviewed in a
Place of trees,
Castles crept up to Heaven’s
Knees;
...

Another long thing
To make the ladies squeal, I suppose,
Dark and sleepy trolled up
From the Welsh bog:
...

These shells are empty of their children,
And their songs,
So now only the sea comes like lamenting
Mothers. Cupped to the ear,
...

When it is easy, I wake up and there is a
Fog on the hills, and the stones lay sweating in
The grass,
And north there are great holes above the earth,
...

This room is all carefully worked marble,
And this is how it goes:
Generations of sallow faced progenitors line the
Halls, stare forwards at one another in no
...

Returned to the pinioned basins
Emaciated with silver, I recreate myself into something
I cannot remember,
Someone who I have always wanted, like a four door
...