(Poem #197 on new numbering scheme)
Weirdos are chanting by threes, and dancing, Yelling at the pine trees. From the north there wails a breeze, So their madness starts to freeze.
– an englyn unodl union. This strikes me a more than a little bit Dylanesque – not that that’s an assertion of quality – it just has that feel to it.
Spoken as a true closet Minnesotan
Yes, I agree about the resemblance to Dylan’s lyrics. I can imagine your poem as the bridge in one of the songs of his early electric period, from something off of Bringing It All Back Home or Blonde On Blonde:
The drunken politician leaps
Upon the street where mothers weep
And the saviors who are fast asleep, they wait for you,
Weirdos are chanting by threes, and dancing,
Yelling at the pine trees.
From the norther there wails a breeze,
So their madness starts to freeze.
Sooner or later one of us must know
That I really did try to get close to you…
Not sure this quite works out perfectly (the meters don’t jibe very well), but it was fun free-associating it together.