The Magwitch & Pip

The horse swallows a bee.
The elephant the retired rogue.
Down the cobble-stoned road
Back beyond the High Bridge docks,

Where the faint trace of sonicality
Wends out purple to blue flames
From Sonic the HedgeHog’s
Jumpman shoes. A sidewinder ride

Way ahead of its time
Of sunny damned delight.
The Circus of 1909,
Near the neck or nadir

Of Ft. George Park
Wherein the rusty tracks
Of space-time’s zip-drive
Loops down and back

To the new up again
And again, a spark
From sharpening
A Mason’s pocket knife

Sets off this powder keg
By which, limping up a little red
Light house, on Ishmael’s own
Peg leg, I free myself.