And angle curled upon his head;

Most of my life, mostly unseen,

And yet I feel with him I've been

Acohort playmate friends of poe

Who tours me where no live friends can't go.

He teaches me his mortal park

And where the firefly stops for a spark

And how the shade within the night

Is a most fine dilicious fright.

I give him words, he gives me bone

To play like piper when alone;

And so my brother, dead, you see

Is wondrous literate company.

Thus if my muse says: Nevermore!

I hear a tapping at my door;

My brother comes to saviour me

With graveyard biscuit, rictus tea,

That tea in which, perused awhile

One finds a lovely mummy's smile

And then again, he bids me snuff

Egyption dusts- one pinch enough

To knock my timbers, sneeze my brain

So idea Ghosts sit up again

To tap my eyelids, tick my nose

And shape themselves with words for clothes.

All this my long lost brother does,

This sibling spent before my cause.

He moves my hand and Lo! oh lord!

His tombstone my Ouija Board.

He shouts: Stay not in buried room,

Come forth, sweet brother, flower my tomb

With words so rare and phrase so bright

They'll bonfire burn away the night.

All this to me lost brother is

And I his live sweet lazarus.

His shout isnore? his cry refuse?

No, NO! Much thanks, long-dead fine muse.

Too much delight

To much sun

and much of night.

It hurts my sight

It floods my heart

It knocks my dreams

With half-sensed art.

To much of sky

and thus of land

Abundance brims

On every hand

To power the soul

and crush the blood

With harvestings

Of wild and good

That cause one's cries

To overflow

With more than being

Can see or know

Vast libraries

Of touch and tell

That soar in heavan

To drop in hell.

So lovely lean

Some sunsets' fire.

That I am tinder,

Torch and pyre,

So lovely sing

Lost birds at dawn

That I am up

And flown and gone.

And where soul was-

An empty tree

Full branches my

lost blood and me.

So breathing thus

And knowing such

I cry to God:

Too much! Too much!