There were moments of anger and waiting,
Rustling and muttering was among the men.
The one cried, the one cried with effects
Constant and overreaching, like barking
From a dog that captured its prey and cooked
It like a chef, then heads of champions cooked it.
Then the lenders of money found a ghost
Which cooked it faster and vaster than pies.
A cartridge was given great care, with food
A mouth entered the scenery of lands that befriended
Us with smiles and laughter,
That encased the buildings we inhabited,
That were fierce as winds in sympathy.
Various positions were rifles,
Red scarves energised a lovely neck
And slotted necklaces,
Fencing like a rapier,
Fondling a book was craftier.
Their moments happened to matter
To all of the landscape behind.
Mouths excited us, when food came
And fixed its home on us.
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(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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