“…And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating,
Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door —
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; —
This it is, and nothing more…”
Some images from my phone, pictures like Edgar Allan Poe:
1. Where my mother tends to a 90- year old woman in Brooklyn.
2. My lower teeth make like an angry mob, shoving their way out of each other from the black abyss that is my esophagus reeking of today’s lunch.
3. A quiet hill along Thomson Road where cows do not sense an impending zombie attack with the enabling dark thicket beyond.
“…this it is, and nothing more.”
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