Robert Rorabeck Poems

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
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How to be beautiful at night all alone
Covered in a layer of sod, making love to no woman,
And minding no woman all the same:
I don’t know,
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Bodies, starting off by themselves, get to know one another
By interspersing:
I check on them as I go through my day, like a maudlin canoe
With over sad eyes:
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Even now the bodies burn with the deeper gentrifications
Of my new neighborhood:
Girls are looking gooder than good, as newer than new girls
Should:
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Unicorns kindle like the virgins of green suicide:
You glide over the sight of me with the age old religious wound
In your side;
And now I will live in a house as old as a Bible, and I will
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So you start up by pulling some machines by the rope
Around their necks.
And the lawns get mowed, while I am sure that I can fall in
Love with just about anyone as long as they are long hipped
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Subterfuge of romance, because what other sort
Of subterfuge is there: all at once running away from war,
Running into France,
Looking at her gondola underneath all of those soft lights of
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Deciding to start fresh every morning,
Pallbearers put any old thing into the earth; but bless
My soul if it isn’t a young thing,
Now just a pittance of dearth while the
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Cannibals slum as rain streaks the windows
Before el arco iris,
And I have seen her turning to me like a beautiful
Ship made out of the lumber of trees
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