Robert Rorabeck Poems

The milk of satin estuaries and of the milk men—
Who may or may not have been your father,
While we were abandoning your households on
Holidays—and the greater tenements seemed to sing
...

I spend a day without loneliness,
And I can finally be comfortable with someone who
Can take me away,
Even though I go to the movies and theatre hop in
...

The sea by the waves of nowhere- -
I am a corpse,
Drinking rum and eating pizza,
As the night fans out,
...

It rains in my garage as the clouds come down
Over some nameless guy riding his bicycle,
But it becomes so easy, because there are no mountains;
And all of my dogs are missing,
...

Poems of distractions like Ferris Wheels
Who are only here two weeks in
February—
Like my muse's love for me—
...

Massive bends of yellow gold,
The incest of falling cupbearers, and the winter’s
Boiling,
The foals unfold and everything becomes less cherished:
...

It now feels alright to wet my throat on the letters
Of a jaundice mind:
Now that the cars will move, the planes will fly;
And there is nothing more so professional that I can
...

If I try again, as if taking myself to the graveyard,
Skipping the schools of light, to read here with the witches
Who never looked more beautiful,
The clouds gurgling a spell in the sky, and all of the little boys
...

Without looking up the gold of sheriffs,
This is the way that sometimes the goldfish have to survive
On Tuesdays,
Open mouthed, while the housewives’ Mexican cleaning ladies
...

Jasmine in a summer creak, pin wheeling,
Perfume as blanketed as if some snow lingered there
Invisible in the vermilion dew;
And tiny brown footsteps wimpling the grass over strewn
...