the horns of "nevermore"

as the yellow moon howls at the dogs
and the leaves rise into the trees,

skeletons in smart suits with shining pins
shimmy their jazz knees
and swing the skinless ladies about
like gentle helicopter blades...
barbecuing steaks
discussing the inconsequential
over insurpassable dry martinis,
relishing the olive bites of their comradeship
as do only those who've taken Charon's ship.
so sweet were those horns of nevermore
for those who need not fret,
who need not labor,
need not contemplate,
need not debate,
need not agonize,
need not antagonize

the yellow moon howls at the dogs
and the leaves rise into the trees.
some bones make their way back to the murderous sea,
others to oak-filled graveyards of moneyed tranquillity,
still others to morgues and impoverished alleys...
still tapping their feet to the stone-free beat
of those horns of "nevermore"