Robert Rorabeck Poems

Coal fields are black without pinpricks or lips,
And the sooty men sit there too tired for tricks;
And, above them, the sky is so black, so eeried by night,
And the black little children fly black, eerie kites,
...

They’ve turned off the television, and quiet now.
School children winnowed into beds weep for nightmares,
And in the aloe the frogs chirp and mate along the old rebar.
There is pornography stolen inside old cars on cinder
...

How they turn golden, sometimes little boys,
Others old men,
Stretch from their graves into eternity, their theories etched into
Papyrus read forever,
...

It gets so sometimes I’d like to pray,
And on my knees I’d like to say,
“Now enough! Why do you have to be
So f*cking tough! ”
...

I don’t like doing the extra work of your soul,
Laying out tattoos for my fingers to needle on your thoughts,
The voluptuous insects secreted with your tears,
The menagerie which glows when you are in the dark,
...

Yes, you are looking beautiful, dear,
But I’m just here to buy my groceries;
And when at night, I run my laps and grade
Those papers, I might think about you,
...

Outlaw to me, Danny,
And I’ll become your thrall,
And we’ll both go romping,
Busting down the hall,
...

The cross is missing her arms, so make love to her
As she rises in stilettos,
From the lake where she’d wish to play alone,
Even if the conquistadors, sunken in their metals,
...

The green fields are empty and metropolitan,
And I am getting paid to be here with my temples
Bandaged,
Hoping there will be echoes, or her face in the moon:
...

If you must look for me, do so now,
For my temples will soon be done molting,
And after I’ve taught my dog to speak, I’ll
Smoke a fine cigar as I walk away,
...