Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Poe's Son

Done with chores, writing a lore before I sleep some more
In bed on a floor, tapping comes to my chamber door,
mental core now on the floor, facing a loud chamber door,
pencil-poor, typewriter’s typing lyrics, then a paper tore.
I implore,” stop tapping at my door, I’m rapping to my core."

Raven with no talons, Underground Poet,
I’m not Edgar Allan, but I’m bout to throw a Poe-fit!


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