UNEARTHLY

Hark!—the familiar tin-

tinnabulation 

of hungry 

chattering autumn teeth,

as once again, some fantastic daredevil

vagabond inside you—

so restless 

to uncover nothing less than the wind's 

most wild and rippling

and uncredited sources of motivation—goes

catapulting outwards,
clamoring—Contact! and then rocketing

hardy 

and heedless through incautious weathers—

over drenched morning hills, beyond weird

desiccated evenings

and their leafy shadows 

of all those poor souls withering

so slight 

behind the constrictive poverty of their windowsills.

And not chattering

out of nerves—

for not at all nervous

to get places,

but—quite anxious 

to find them.