Folk Festival (Bird's Hill, 1998)

As nightfall progresses

the fiddle possesses

the moment reaches a                                          peak

a dread-head dances in polkadot pants

a samurai glows in his paranoid clothes

the drums on Pope's Hill, a heretical thrill!

a playful mud-fight is a squishy delight

a           naked           man            peddles           his            lazily          bike

a woman who laughs

as she throws her head back

like she's trying to

                                                                                           lick the moon