Robert Rorabeck Poems

Well—so this juvenile rope
Hangs us as we won't go out and light the wicks
With the dragons coming home
Over the equinoxes—while our fairytale fathers fish
...

In this new heaven—an infantile god,
Left exposed amidst the echinopsis of the easement of
The canal—
With his crocodilian smile having already eaten
...

The tenements starving underneath the hoof-prints of
Angels—and he comes home to you, brown-skinned—apiary
And you make love for fewer than five minutes—
And when you go to sleep you become all of my heavens,
...

When Sunday is finished how does it
Metamorphosis into a school day, unless it is
Labor day—
And where does noon go after the stewardesses
...

A path to a graveyard can seem beautiful while walking
Down upon it—
And there is a lake against your left shoulder
And speed boats dancing and interrupting the respites of
...

And there they saw you in the middle of the
Day out beyond the water slogging portables—skipping
School with narcolepsy—you'd just exhausted yourself
While heading down to the canal—
...

Building your house inside the soundproof bones
As it rained—
And the housewives awakened all at once
From their social unconsciousness:
...

I toss a Frisbee to the wolves as I listen
To the jet engine's holiday—
It sounds just like the apiary of your daydreams,
As I've been thinking about you all across
...

The breast of a caterpillar curled from a leave
Curling as if pulled from
The moon: yes, his metamorphosis is an experiment of
Science,
...

Ferris Wheels strewn across a carpet
In a house as close to
The sea so as to be molested by it—
Where dolls lie cluttered amidst the palm fronds
...