Robert Rorabeck Poems

Oh so you know that the boundaries shoot of like
Gloriously indigenous fireworks: green and green things,
And the old man in the sea, and love letters:
I misspelled my face between her legs and repeated the
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Do you realize even now, Kelly, that you are playing with
The Grim Reaper:
This savage scythe who will pretend to never touch the
Harvest of your legs until called upon,
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Drops of passion from the second half of
Liquor bottle:
Now cops come and arrest me except that I am
Protected by the watermelon faerie;
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It is better said when all the beauties are not
At home;
The way the sea sometimes comes in answering;
Oh,
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I wish I could sing for you:
I wish I could step right out over the warm cinderblocks
And bare my ass,
Cracking jokes with the trumpet of that baboon;
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Words knick knocking in tombs-
I can smell you when you are not around;
I can smell you like a bull of a god,
Like canyons of coral where cheerleaders bloom:
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I try not to worry about things,
And I day dream:
The trucks come, and the trucks go:
Delivering to graveyards through the f%cking snow,
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I wake up with booze and strut like a
Male peacock his feathers in the zoo,
Not knowing that he captured and partaking in an act;
And isn’t this strange,
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The city goes home and bifocals in
Its wrathful arcade;
And you can tell that I have been drinking:
I have slept in my clothes for seven years,
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Spume in the twilight of my senses
While the blind women have been touching the
Apple tree,
And I have been curling my toes—
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