The Most Joyful Of God's Most Basest Of Amusements Poem by Robert Rorabeck

All of this in the reason of a prayer, mutely and as silently
As a nest of rattlesnakes thoroughly at peace;
Articulating my love who has yet to arise from the east,
So her beds are unsold and yet lay dampened, and upon them
The season’s wildflowers surcease
Like an ice-cream shop closed for the off week;
While in the somnolent pools of eyes diademed by whatever
Light can be found creeping through their suburban houses,
The arrow heads of easy witchery find out the smells of her unopened
Blouses:
And they move this way, creeping in the caesuras of the
Lighthoused waves back and forth through houses, calling out to
Her like the feral choruses of foxes towards their more
Educated sisters; and coming up and burning like wild, and feral
Fires,
Like disastrous weeds about the ankles of a ballroom,
Climbing until they can feel the perfumes around the armpits of
Airplanes; and getting there and purring, figuring that at least they
Measured up enough to ride even the most joyful of god’s most
Basest amusements.