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!