Robert Rorabeck Poems

I’ll be dead
Before I’m handsome

Before my parents know,
...

This is French who cant speak it,
Rimbaud without his tongue- I got a C
In the language of love,
A C+ in logic, and horse semen that has
...

As a religion, you should be holy.
When you look out your window, the sea should
Shine her enchanted motes off the roofs of Chevys,
Like signals from a mirror from the underwater angels.
...

Let’s get out of here and go
To where the sky whistles,
Where even now she is getting laid
In places beautiful,
...

If I put my pen to you and scrawl,
Longingly like a pining god, would I bring
Reason to you, or the thoughtfulness of a pacaderm,
Or only mar the flesh;
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Fools on the battlefield pronounce rain,
While no one reads nor calls, though outside
Little boys as blond as rays lead cuckolded vagabonds
On the canal so slow,
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I’ve had a dream of you the final summer
Of my morning’s sleep,
A denouement to the deeper aberrations which
Exeunt from the surface of my vision
...

Hours echo from the breakfast nook from the
Kitchen,
And rabbits take over the front yard in colonies of
Earthy holes which break the horses’ legs servicing
...

If I could write anything let it be you in the cathedral,
Hemmed in blue, holding the pet turtle:
Someone has punched you on the lips, I know not who,
But your pain and bruises only serve to make you
...

These days turn around the way young girls
Win their medals,
Or, children, squealing, go around the playground
In may-poled meadows,
...