Just before you doze off to sleep
you hear them outside the window
in the garden on a hot summer night.
A band of nomadic gnomes known
as the Yellowbelly Scuttlebutts.
True musical morticians who play
the razzmatazz jazz of real hepcat
banjoists and hipster harmonicas.
Dressed in their trademark off-color
chinchilla jackets, iridescent nightwear,
and Raman-noodle loafers, they
intermingle the newest passion of fashion
With their makeshift inversions
of discordant notes, that taunt and tease
the frenzy of scattered words, a fast shuffle
of changing phases and turning phrases.
A cacophony of mixed melodies
evoke a sense of remorse and revved-up
rebuke, as rows daffodils evaporate in
the light of the electrified moonshine.
Amid ghosts of the aroused void,
new and frighteningly deformed creatures,
monsters, spawned by imagination
and fears, crawl out from the muck
of one’s mind to bask in the shadows cast
by the mist that shrouds the haloed moon.
There will be no sleep tonight.
© Peter V. Dugan
Excerpt from the book “Down The Rabbit Hole”
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