The Emptiest Hall Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Dying off in the albino savannahs
Where the boomslangs sing over the freckled shoulders
Of evangelical though tasteless wishes,
Haunting through the rippling amusements that panhandle
Across the Diaspora
Of petulant flora and venal fauna; and it all happens on these
Days,
The sunlight rattling up through her brown gaze,
Happing to come to me as some sort of witchcraft of a song,
Gathering her body
As she gossips along:
The hills all empty save for their carcasses of gold,
Her ancestors resting through the rosaries manifold;
And it all seems to me as if answering the reluctant echoes of
Some strange prayer,
Like the hallucinations of school buses who all seem to
Be circling there in the deepest somnolence in the sandiest
Wave,
She cries with her brownest of eyes; as the terrapins eat the
Orchids over my grave,
And my bravest of brave uncles water-ski; her throat drinks
The wine of her thirsty skull,
Like school girls who echo down the emptiest hall.