comes the fiddlers three
with kegs each for their thirsty offspring
scurrying across sawdust of begotten shells
the fielded mice with the prophet of darkest mild
will drink at ease with the predator of all that moves;
in daylight binge of sumptuous calm
gone for now, the gnawing on fallen acorn
the pride with their passionate meat
the slobbering on dry hay and wet weed.
as strides a scent through cracked walls
onto crooked beams of midday wood
where lights the fire of the goblins hob;
how true be the whispers of gossiping wives?
how exaggerated the catch of the fishermans friend?
with scars real enough to pacify the eyes of unwanted bondage.
how deep must be the wanting of a lighter ale?
scale of fish. kale of cabbage white.
now muddled the tongues of insulin and revolt
with dry hearts on slabs of a promising yeast
gone now the hunter on his journey east
with satisfied heart. this now fed beast
will journey on to pastures new;