Robert Rorabeck Poems

The Virgin of Guadalupe is also Maria Conception,
But they are both just another two
Splintered images of our Mother Mary:
Ave Maria sung through the cannibalistic dells of the
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The rum is an anesthetic; it is also a truth serum:
I took two Guatemelan boys past my yellow cottage today:
We swam in a car down concrete rivers:
I have the Virgin of Guadalupe on my back window
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Sometimes the sky feels bad out of love
And churns up her clouds like boiling degrees, like
Throwing things out of all of her windows:
Then there are too many words like tourists picnicking on
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The bottle seems to disappear into the lips of
Lonely flowers
And even makes me think to figure that I am doing good
Work,
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I’ve been at it all wrong, trying to make out with you
In the middle of a baseball game your little brother is in:
That you really love,
And autumn is in the air and we have misplaced our returning
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Too many words dulling the pain, making inebriations,
Make for bad poems:
But I sat with you on my swings the other day before you left
Me:
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In your body’s movement, a religion:
And sea-life:
Pink lettered sandboxes and orchestra,
Gypsum:
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When the night gets really busy with its loving
And all of the cars are parked with their houses:
Then you are dancing with your sister
Like double scoops of butterflies in your tenements,
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Night burns for a time its pornography:
A troop of snails endeavor to drink the sea above which
You are riding on winged seahorses that have just
Leapt from the waves who are themselves the teal lips parting
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I will write about jingoistic nunneries
Riding white army ants all across barbaric planets
Where you can’t breathe from the sight of your
Love;
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