Sunday, March 11, 2018

A poe aime


The title is Philip’s suggestion
That is what makes it a contraption
A surge or a possible explosion
Ideas & thoughts in profusion

In a cast of many apparitions
We see the darkness & his sister madness
Bodies of cats eyes nine lives
Hang across his sky of boldness

In endless screams for Lenore or Madeline
Our houses squeak our nerves are fine
Rage & hidden desire calls for lust
On this snowy night we reclaim or bust

His dreams within our dreams slumber
They fester in our brains & cumber
A reality copies from the imagination
A psychosis comes from its stimulation

Small things of a Poe aime
His spirit a rampart for viable commitment
Ligea or ellenora knock his heaven’s door
His red death will remain for ever more!

masks are hardly

  The breeze from the rushing train Still brushes my long hair Still gives a moment of surrender   Masks are hardly Breathable Y...