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.
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