Wednesday, September 24, 2008



Ah tacky Golden Bowl!!!
Your Spirit done Flown the Coop!!!
Toll the Funeral Bells, honey!!!
I’m going to do my Stygian Drag…

I’m Edgar Allan Poe, my dears—
Hast thou no Shame or Sorrow?
Shed you not One Tacky Tear?
Do you not know my sad drear Tale?
I’m America’s Dead Sweetheart!!!

Come, I’ll tell you the Story—
My Funeral Swan Song so Blue.
I who died so Young and Sweet,
Done in by Horace Greeley and
All those Jealous Queenly Snots.

Wretched queer Madame Griswold—
Who hated me with all her Closetry
And Faggy Pride, doing me in bad,
How shall future American Littérateurs
View my tacky Murder Most Foul?

The Evil Eye of Baltimore—
The Baltimore Sun’s scurrilous lies
The Evil Queen of The NY Tribune
They murdered me silencing
My Eloquent Tongue Too Early.

Sabbath Sun of the Deep South—
May your Dixie Dead rot in Hell
For I am Lenore, down here deep,
Premature burial my poet’s reward
Rotting in your lousy Baltimore Dirt…

How long in this stinking Graveyard—
Have I been waiting for you my
Debonair Clairvoyant Future Poet?
To channel my Voice from the Past
Made Angel-Flight by your Words?

This House of Mirth and Sorrow—
A dingy dreary damned Mansion,
My Tragic Muse speaks thru you
From dreary Hell’s own Real Estate…
Avant!!! Arise Snarky Poet!!!

No comments:

Post a Comment

So snark me!