Robert Rorabeck Poems

The poems of my wounded thoughts must
Want something they cannot have—
The illusion of gladness,
The same thing as an amusement park beside
...

The same memory waits for no one more
Than this—
With the days caving in like sink holes over
Our lives—
...

The same memory waits for no one more
Than this—
With the days caving in like sink holes over
Our lives—
...

They held all of their flowers in their
Make-believe wedding of midnight,
But it was just a funeral,
Like looking at my face before the
...

And they will make publications—
And they will keep on believing in the
Unending desires of their parades:
It will come again and again to this,
...

Making another line in the wilting snow:
It is just make-believe anyways—
The cathedrals are over-run with parked cars
And the bouquets which were supposed to be
...

Making another line in the wilting snow:
It is just make-believe anyways—
The cathedrals are over-run with parked cars
And the bouquets which were supposed to be
...

All of a sudden the stars were in Mexico,
Like you were in your bedroom:
You had no last thought of me:
You were married:
...

Sad wounds on a promise for Indians—
Another night falling down across the birds,
As the hobos settle in,
Knowing that they are lucky,
...

The cold front pushes in the rains
After Joe has gone
Back to Michigan—I take my class outside
To write about nature
...