The Heart of Your Belongings
From The Dance of the Unforgotten
This is our warm house, Edgar—
where horror passed through our hands.
where horror passed through our hands.
Fingers wrapped ’round quill,
inking out your discontent,
your beautiful macabre.
Ah, a story—as only my Edgar could tell.
inking out your discontent,
your beautiful macabre.
Ah, a story—as only my Edgar could tell.
I rest—nervously—within, and await the telling.
Oh no. No dear boy.
You confuse yourself
with your pen.
You confuse yourself
with your pen.
This story you write.
It is only true on the page.
You have done nothing to regret.
There is no body beneath the floorboards.
No pounding from below.
It is only true on the page.
You have done nothing to regret.
There is no body beneath the floorboards.
No pounding from below.
You are a good man and I am the heart.
Are you troubled again by the beating?
It is only me my love,
as I push and pull a ruby tide.
Are you troubled again by the beating?
It is only me my love,
as I push and pull a ruby tide.
My dear Edgar.
My orphaned child–
I would live and die with you.
My orphaned child–
I would live and die with you.
If there be madness,
it dwells afield and about—
not within.
it dwells afield and about—
not within.
Settle the stir my boy.
Your panic has no plot.
We are alone.
Your panic has no plot.
We are alone.
Last night, I felt you in dreadful slumber.
The scream in the pillow.
The sweat in the sheets.
The scream in the pillow.
The sweat in the sheets.
My strange angel,
I fear the terribles are unleashed.
Was it the fever–
the opium, brandy and rum?
I fear the terribles are unleashed.
Was it the fever–
the opium, brandy and rum?
No.
The unmooring lies not in your head,
nor your hand,
nor your heart—
The unmooring lies not in your head,
nor your hand,
nor your heart—
You are a man, born twice,
of grace and grotesque.
Simply a mirror to this disquiet.
of grace and grotesque.
Simply a mirror to this disquiet.
Oh Edgar.
Put away the absinthe.
There is tea in the kitchen.
Warm a cup.
Sit by the window.
Put away the absinthe.
There is tea in the kitchen.
Warm a cup.
Sit by the window.
Or a long walk under the hemlocks?
We will ask a raven to tell us a tale.
We will ask a raven to tell us a tale.
Another story! As only my Edgar knows to tell!
–I’ll rest again–nervously within–awaiting your words.
–I’ll rest again–nervously within–awaiting your words.
Rest a spell and collect your dark drafts.
Let go your fire–
so others might see
the aesthetics of your despair.
Let go your fire–
so others might see
the aesthetics of your despair.
You are the better romantic–
your ache a blessing, your sorrow, a need.
your ache a blessing, your sorrow, a need.
Gentle the tremors.
There is no knife–
No blood–
only the red of the roses.
There is no knife–
No blood–
only the red of the roses.
But you ask if you’ve murdered yourself—
and had me be the blade?
and had me be the blade?
Yes–
You’ve made me your blade.
But I never cut.
You’ve made me your blade.
But I never cut.
Oh Edgar, bless our little home.
And bless you my boy.
Your torments shall not consume you.
Your dread is misplaced.
Your torments shall not consume you.
Your dread is misplaced.
I am the heart of your belongings.
My rivers carry your gift.
My rivers carry your gift.
I beg you consider–
a holiday in the mountains.
Leave your stories to rest,
and return rekindled, curious.
a holiday in the mountains.
Leave your stories to rest,
and return rekindled, curious.
My dear Edgar,
what was never done –
let it be undone.
what was never done –
let it be undone.
My beloved boy.
There is no deed.
No hideous heart.
There is no deed.
No hideous heart.
