Robert Rorabeck Poems

O jealousy of cadavers-
Here is another one who cannot taste
The meaning, smiling because he is fully gone:
An addiction of secrets,
...

Going to Colorado for a celebration,
But not one of language-
We don’t do that in my family, put on airs
For things which might not exist-
...

Useless architects build their paper bridges
Up to her eyes,
But ever are my words pilgrims without
Recompense,
...

Wear out the breath the sea gives to the cities,
Wear out the stones the chameleons think on turning red,
Wear out the mountains looking up her airy dress,
And put me safely into bed....
...

Filthy lies are unstoppable from
The holes in my flesh,
The decanters of weevils turning around
Like the striped sign in a barber’s shop-
...

Almost real dead men sit best by Sally-
They are polite but losing their hair and genesequa,
But are quite captivated by the telly;
When I am around them, say on Sundays,
...

Insouciant feelings for me,
Like she doesn’t know what to eat:
She might love me for an hour,
She might love me for a week,
...

The Bosque is beautiful in thunder and fire.
As thieves wind their spools of copper wires.
Young lovers are pooling in the dry brushes,
And long legged jackrabbits go thumping through washes.
...

Crippled inflections of blue birds.
I want to curse, but I do not know her language.
In fact, I cannot speak at all,
But she is smoking a cigarette, her legs crossed,
...

There is nothing on t.v.,
But the ocean is very deep.
I have been hurt in the forest
Where I sleep.
...