On a bust
of his ancestor,
clinging candlelit
bleak above his
chipped and
dismal chamber door—
perched
and spat
the raven—something rather
a little too grim
and final
for him
to handle.
Meanwhile,
unheeded—
silently blared
the somewhat
more helpful
tip at
the top
of that—swiftly diminishing
waxy
alabaster candle—look guys;
it's cool.
I'm fire.
