LOST IN A POE REVERIE

Add to your day dreams
a raucous rant of reverie
from a fearsome sleepwalker
writing over five stories
about interrogated soul mates
in a mystery meter rising
on the far side of the moon,
multiply mirrors of singers
at live dance halls
divided into lively couples clubs
as the dawn awakes our hearts
subtracted into diamond legends
from king Solomon mines
or Treasure Island
when all lights stamp reality
that quickly burn away
from any spaded handled dross
of locating coins and stamps
from underneath the dark sea
of sinking cargo ships
as epileptic saints appear
from laced curtains
behind buried Puritan blinds
who move like chessboard pawns
over toothless archangels
hidden in church bazaars
fleeing lower basements
as exiled wandering stars
rescued over by shark
and right whale waters
when strong Sicilian sailors
unload fresh salt for New England
for our home harbor
to cook on colder nights
as Mayflies search for trout,
cod, and red salmon
near whitened kingfisher herons
who rest and stretch out
on the sunny high tidal beach
over a first frosty branch
reaching for bread and quail
along the edge of the bay side
of a camp site's lagoon
to search ethereal currents
near a once crunchy snow forest
thawed now among birdsong
as rings of sea voices rise
where Edgar Allen Poe trains
as a once dismissive soldier
in South Boston by Castle Island
despising all regiment
of his rejected discipline
writes in a trance of hours
by the ghostly Atlantic's watch
hidden between portholes
hearing an oceanic Druid din.