Robert Rorabeck Poems

The night pulls me back towards the doors of
Prostitution:
In the pit of some fair damsels body, a tiny spit of fire burns,
And they keep saying I am so cute, so cute:
...

Maybe the bodies burn their cathedrals of samurais
All day long, but I don’t blame them:
These are just the things that they do when they cant get
Any reception, when there isn’t or there aren’t any good
...

I drink more liquor like a lucky seahorse drinks of its
Velveteen sea;
And perhaps I love you, if this is the worth of my soul,
And I am returning to myself in the bodies of
...

Blue as your eyes are they only go so far in:
They only provide so much shelter for your man and your
Children:
They go burning like the tinsels of fire blown from an
...

Circuses of tricks and good looking women:
The inspectors want more money from me: I just want to
Ejaculate and string out on the swings:
I don’t need to be around other blond boys: I can be my own
...

Words that burn infinitely burn for women:
Lochs of women, virgins breathing and snorkeling both
Above and beneath the sea:
Women of green and amber eyes, like the resins of super holy
...

Female bodies flame their eternal milk when they
Come into season
And then you can see them beside road courses or in and
Amidst bricabrac at flea markets or oh um
...

Bottles and perfumes of popgun antics
Distilled from your distemper
And I am supposed to be getting up and giving
You negligee on your birthday:
...

What they have is real, and what you are is a smoking
Ruin.
The mountains will play their bassoons for you only
Because you have been to the tops of so many of them;
...

As a male of so little means, this is how I
Won her:
I told her I couldn’t be defeated by any old sort of
Fire, and then I told her to look at hers,
...