The Hum Mew Zing Of A Night Owl

more often than not, a knightly surge

combs a pawn me,

especially after the stroke of midnight, when

hermetically sealed in my rookery,

where bats in the belfry

flap their wings at the speed

of sound times ten

thence, this king heads to his counting house

(which doubles asthma

Perkiomen Valley bishopric)

to economize on space,

especially during tax time

(as April fifteenth slowly approaches,

me heartbeat doth) quicken

though becalmed, when imbibing

idyllic, fantastic, and bucolic kingdom

Americana paintings courtesy, sans nomen

Percevel Rockwell, thus jitteriness pacified,

particularly speaking

on the telly phone with Ken

Burns, whose trademark documentaries,

particularly War between the States,

where even roosting hen

got into the frayed scrimmage vis a vis, even

chilly being egged on to surrender as Ben

a fit to this American

Civil War Yankee incarnate,

whose doodling word

ya probably don't give a hoot -Amen!