Here once, through an alley Titanic,
Of cypress, I roamed with my soul –
Of cypress, with Psyche, my soul…
Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her…
And I said: What is written, sweet sister,
On the door of this legend tomb?
EAP
“Mr. Poe, why don’t you write your poems so that everyone can understand them?” He replied, “Madam, I write so that every body can not understand them.
My Soul She Shrieks
My soul, she shrieks and flings me down
Laughing maniacally
The wind picks up and lifts her dress
Teasing and pleasing me
All is nothingness, so she says
As she pins me to the bed
With a silver shaft of cold, cold steel
She runs me through and through.
BFB
“Mr. Bell, why don’t you write your poems so that everyone can understand them?” I replied, “Madam, I write so that every body can not understand them.
