Thursday, June 26, 2014

poem || Jeff Harrison

Edgar Allan Poe

something like the note
of Lou Clarita, we all
laughed at him
he used to say that he can talk
with his shadow
and that his shadow
was going to eat him
of course we were
all laughing always
we called him Edgar Allan Poe
why should his problem taxi us to
a pile of stone? why should we too be
reduced moldy -- it's wrong, still -- to
a musical spinning, mooing English as chaos?

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