Robert Rorabeck Poems

I don’t want to use you up, because this is not
Your grotto and my mother only has one flashlight,
But still very soon I will be touching myself
And then I will be traveling long footed across
...

We can share the same girl, and we can go with
Her for hours:
I can look just as beautiful for her as you can,
But I cannot drink anymore if I want to go with you
...

I’m placing a bet on a house where the mountains
Live:
I’m almost certain there’s a girl there who’s a housewife
I could have sworn would never give:
...

Bottle caps under sewing the spikenard:
Where there is jubilant literature and students of
Premodonnas and words as plentiful and
Carnivorous blue jays,
...

She has olive skin and this is what she does,
While my mother is coughing in the next room:
She defeats me,
She curls up in the smoking forest against the
...

This really shouldn’t be your job:
The world has struck you down and made you as
Beautiful as broken glass;
And it is the other girls who can fly and goof off for their
...

I drink rum, and by the end of the month I will
Even have my own little house
That the pets can lie in, and we can hear the waves the same
As we heard the lions roar down the street
...

I hate you my turtle dove: I don’t know who you
Are,
So I just keep sniffing more beefier flowers, and getting
Drunk into bars:
...

I will soon be a tramp who flights towards
Nothing,
Drinking his alphabet liquor and weeping weeping:
Oh, the age old tire swings creaking and repeating,
...

I toss my bottles of rum to cadaverous Mayflowers;
And she says that I am so cute because I reject her because of
Her scars and otherwise hermaphroditisms:
And then I sing out trilling: the spring gurgles and it is thrilling,
...