Robert Rorabeck Poems

Touch him now if he cannot move
The legions are marching between them,
Dragging the sky behind them
Like a curtain torn down from the theatre,
...

“Three more weeks of
Heavy petting, ” said
The moon to her lover,
“Then I will lose my memory
...

This is what we do:
We put things together;
We sniff glue.
Riding on the backs
...

Cloistered at the desert’s lip
The nuns reminisce on their daughters’
Reminiscence,
They quiet kiss of boys
...

He has a gun to his head,
And he is smiling.
They hold the barrel to his temple,
As they join together in a Persian bed.
...

There are dead horses underground,
And there are people underground,
Some you know and
Some who know you.
...

I cannot think anymore, as happy as if’
I were with a woman, in the banking of the
Higher earths, amidst the alabaster aspens,
The columns for the celebrations
...

Obeying the fallow months,
They bought the shortest headstone in the catalogue,
And when that was set they took
The blue peacock feathers of the dead flamenco dancer
...

Waiting for the animals of chaos,
Wanting to put on my socks and drive my car to the
Liquor store:
Knowing that that is the way that they will come
...

Coldness comes best under the hardest of sun,
When you cannot wear enough clothes because of all you have drunken,
And loneliness on the busiest street of the biggest city,
When you cannot recognize a single face and no one looks at you,
...