Only
twelve noon—and already
irresponsibly high
hanging
crosstown
bells' wagging over-
tone pealing—sounds
to you
more
like—blithe
octaves, perfect
fifths, forths,
thirds,
and whatever—all chorused
together in perfect
time chortling—
Hee-Haw!
Hi-Ho!
Hee-Ho!
Hi-Haw!
what'll be!
what'll be!
what'll be—
your end game?
