Thursday, December 06, 2012


Edgar Allen Poe
Curled up in the street.
The winds of Baltimore
Cooping election day.
"In great Distress."
Baltimore Poet.

Threadbare ankles
Dirt and grime
An alcoholic's pounding brain
In someone else's clothes.

Fevered Baltimore Poet
Curled on the street
Beside a dingy wall.

In a stranger's clothes

Taken to hospital
Barred windows.

Dead in less than a week,
Talking to spirits,
To a cruel Father,
To Ravens, to Eleonora,
To The Lost Lenore,
To Death in the City in The Sea.
Dead in less than a week,
Five in the Morning.
Who was Reynolds?

Griswold was not amused.
False obituaries, false memoirs.
Defended by Baudelaire,
A Raven made famous.
Small man
Now frozen in Black and White.

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I am the author of 5 books: Android Down, Firewood for Cannibals, The Cubicles of Madness, Robot Stories, and most recently, Various Meats and Cheeses. I live and write in Michigan. My website is at