To swim the slimy seas the ocean o’er
And gag upon the rank and rotten air
Filthy with sailor’s curse and foulest swear
In search of lost and dearly loved Lenore,
To open up the inner sanctum’s door
And call (in tongues unfit for holy prayer)
Clammy Cthulhu forth from out his lair,
Will be to me most pleasant evermore.
And like a count who shuns the light of day
And moves by candlelight in chilly gloom,
Or a black witch that wears a sacred bloom
Of belladonna on her breast alway,
I live where the scarecrow spies the blackbird’s lark:
I live within the cold and rainy dark.

O.O

For those who like a little punch
   When drinking Coca-Cola:
Try it with a sprig of mint,
   Or spike it with ebola.

O.O

Arise, arise, my ugly friends;
   Arise, and bring a cup!
I've got for you some witch's brew:
   Come out, and drink it up!

Come swim with me the river of dreams,
   Where poisonous flowers bloom:
Come on, get high: climb up the sky:
   Get higher than high on "the broom".

A lesser man can **** his can,
   His bottle, or his blood;
But me? I need the weedy mead:
   All other spirits are mud.

And those who know, they know it so:
   No other brew will do;
So be my guest and get possessed
   On my homemade witch's brew!

O.O

Tonight the poltergeists will come
    And rip you out of bed,
And pound your walls, and drum your door,
    And hammer in your head,
And leave you writhing still alive,
    Though rather you'd be dead.

But fear not these; they merely prank;
    Instead the demon fear
That frightens away the poltergeists
    Whene'er it doth appear,
And screams a scream that makes to bleed
     A stream each mangled ear.

It comes for you, your soul to possess;
    And I do sadly tell,
You have no chance yourself to save;
    So, sleep, and sleep you well—
Enjoy another tender dream
    Before you're dragged to Hell.

O.O

You know you've got a problem
    When candy is more than dandy—
When all you want is sugar,
    And start trading teeth for candy.

O.O

Have ever you heard
   The crows sing sweetly?
A singing bird,
   They sing discreetly.

They caw to scoff
   And to berate you,—
To **** you off
   And agitate you.

O.O

A poet lies here very often:
When not about, he’s in his coffin.

O.O

The moon tonight doth wear a shroud
    Of crimson-orange ether,
And seems a pumpkin with flight endow'd,
    Nor with a rooted tether.

The night is warm; the breeze doth loll
    Upon the shadow's creeping;
And autumn very soon will fall,
    And bring with it more sleeping.

                              August 29, 2015

O.O