The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe
What follows is a twisted version of Poe's poem
(permanently unfinished. circa 1998)
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I blundered, bleak and bleary,
Up on many so many books with looks of forgetful lore,
While I nattered, gnarly knotting, soddenly there came a
Toppling, as of some wind jauntily ripping at my dear chandler!
"Try some vinegar," I muttered, tipping at my chandler dear,
"Fizz it is, and nothing more!"
Ah, disjointedly I dismember, it was in the black Dizember,
As each separate crying member cast its shudder with fine flair.
Haggardly I witched a wereowl; maddingly I had naught but four toes
Of my last sure piece of Zorro, Zorro of the lost Grimoire.
Ware! the poor unprudent pagan whom the grangers named Zorro,
Footless here but for his toes.
And the stilting uncouth slurping burping of each lurking footman
Drilled me with bombastic bellows barely belched before,
So that now, to null the reeling of my head, i slowed my breathing.
"Try some vinegar?" I renewed entreating of my chandler dear,
"Try some vinegar!" the footmen were repeating to my chandler dear,
"Fizz it is, and nothing more!"
Pleasantly my throat grew longer, resuscitating then my hunger,
"Curs!", said I, "or Madmen truly! Your unglibness I deplore!,
"At your tactlessness I'm just snapping! Now! Don't stand there clapping!"
"Agh! So saintly you stand there clapping, clapping with your fingers four,"
"That I'm fiercely sure I cured you!" Here I demanded of them all galore,
-- pointing at them some more,right at the floor,
--(hairy is the winding floor)
"May you burp and lurk no more!"
Returning to my dark despair then, along i walked, wandering, swearing,
Pouting, uttering oaths no otter ever yearned to utter before.
But this silliness wasn't settling, and my spirit was still sputtering,
When my ornery thoughts were shaken by the sight of a large lemur!
My eyes fluttered, but a better look revealed no weird lemur,
Only a chair and nothing more!
Hacked in two, my chair was churning, all the foam within it burning...
When soon again I heard a slurping, somewhat rowdier than before.
"Shore-leave!", said I, "What I hear is someone eating winter lettuce!"
Let me see then, where the cat is, and this feastery expose!
Let the cat sniff around the corner, and this feastery expose;
For - a periwinkle is not a rose!
"Oh, Panther?", I flustered in the shadows, til with many a purr I found her,
On a stack of Sunday papers from the year Two Fifty Four.
Not the least perturbed to see me, for a moment she yawned and eyed me,
Then, not mean nor loud nor lazy, searched around for the slurping boor,
Searched around my busted palace, all along the charted floor,
Searched and spat and searched some more.
Then this bony
Then with every board pawstep growling,
Then would every word be lying
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