Shivaree

These kettle bells.         Is it the axe-murderer,         with green garbage bag         in the shadows?         No. Green trees so thick         their tops are folded hands         or knotted knuckles         to make perilous shrubbery         by the garden wall.         Yet this is a state of mind         and shards of multi-coloured         glass dot the top of stones.         Interesting. Should a sociopath put         out his shingle, come calling,         a much under-estimated, rude uttering         would take place.         Still bees are active in the night air,         not swarms, but a hum. Pleasant odours waft         thru stiller air. There is no charged electricity         to things, no tautness or leathery tightness to         individual seconds. Still and stricken still.         Yet "what ifs" come slithering         as if serpents along         a pasture floor.         The diabolical. Rich desire to impregnate with evil,         To embarcation upon conquests.         To embolden and make one's mark,         however ridiculous to the sane and balanced mind.         Horrible. The dirty laundry of just one         over-flowering and too abundant mind gone wrong.         One single blossom out of place and "killer".         Off-kilter. Out of whack. The         pickle short of a jar syndrome.         Then there's the hoots and shrill cat-calls         withered by horse laughs. Guffaws with tattoos and         rifle-butts.         Laid back "good ole boys" type of humour going wrong         soured by too many visits and skunky beers from the         Orchid Lounge.         Rinky-dink, honky-tonk. Dotting the landscape with worn,         thin cars, trouser legs piled up, the "f" and "s" words.         Charivari. A timely entry. A buzz set to sound, a faint         blinking button with no sound. Suckers in the creek         breaking water to catch flies, churning mud bottom         by their too turbulent tails; a bird hitting the window         only its night. The echo of moths lost to the stars         with each jarring knock.