Jitter Issue #2
Lines Scratched Down In Black Soot
A night raven mixed up the shadows of the edge ofthe cliffThat Edgar Allan Poe finally threw himself off ofA precipice of grog and rotgut and opium pipesWith deep tooth marks and slobber upon their stemsAnd yet still through it all her too young death mostuntimely still pecked to get inAs it crawled in the sweat and gooseflesh of his tootight for comfort skinAnd yet the old circus of his gauzy voice still slithersand even undulates as it fadesLeaving behind the dancing couplets which markedhim as the best oneWhoever bothered to take up the poet's trade.
Ken L. Jones