Escape From Chestnut's Edge

The split level blinks at Chestnut End under twilight's tremble, ripping me, the oily menhaden bait, from the under boot The Chestnut dwellers bold interrogative flushes him down then plunges-up the flotsam village scrawler the way you talk to a blooming night blooming to a blow-fish blown unsuspecting of the scuttle, skating the wake away The insomniacs billow from their raged ranches, wisely, and after supper, tumbling the trickster tumbledowning the scrawler, the baitster dip-fished in his own inkwell. Ripped and chipped in my underbrush I hunker down loading the mossy mossbunkers inside my spitball. Kicking, winding up tumbling down madly aiming for the ramshackle fence, escaping once again in my handsome lederhosen.