“Nevermore,” croaks the blade, not the bird,
one candle weeps its waxen plea,
two shadows dance: one’s you, one’s me,
simple philosophy
The second shadow? Merely a guest,
a breath, a pause, the punchline’s jest
as the cat’s cradle snap the raven laughs,
and the shadow claps
And you, dear ghost! Tween shadow and death
“Nevermore,” the blade repeats,
but oh how fine the severed thread,
when both our shadows share one head
The guillotine’s been singing since dawn.
but I heard the lie in its throat,
a wet, hooked thing, half-uncloaked
by the candle’s guttering note.
The wax pooled black, corpse-thread lice
like a clockwork twitch of hollowed-eye slim
danced in the weave of its device
as the raven perched a favored grim
