On October 3, 1849, Poe was found on the streets of Baltimore delirious, "in great distress, and... in need of immediate assistance", according to the man who found him, Joseph W. Walker. He was taken to the Washington College Hospital, where he died on Sunday, October 7, 1849, at 5:00 in the morning. Poe was never coherent long enough to explain how he came to be in his dire condition, and, oddly, was wearing clothes that were not his own: a stained faded, old bombazine coat, pantaloons of a similar character, a pair of worn-out shoes run down at the heels, and an old straw hat. Poe is said to have repeatedly called out the name "Reynolds" on the night before his death, though it is unclear to whom he was referring.
i put my shirt on
right arm first
the only way i can
button it almost up
all thumbs and blood-crusted fingernails
deeper thoughts than what tie to wear
are jailed away
soundly for sounding absurd
all the thoughts i thought were priced to sell
as is
no refunds
tucked under a tag’s inhibitions
chased out to dry
playing for keeps
just a runnel’s spouting off
plumbago skies
higher than above
riskier than taking
over
what’s a good bet of what’s left
not half of plenty
times two
timing you
under the weather’s raft
left for alive
just a hole drilled through emptiness
just ten years to go
just ten years ago
rustling about in the hatpins and shiny things of eye-light
get this take-this-hand out of my mind
now
get by
there are lightning bugs in my better half
free enough to last until the dark goes out
words sipped from the lip of a dew-filled leaf
make might-have-beens go wrong
one-wayed and looked over
fumbling about in the rusted belt buckles and the wood umbrella stems
of my outside-in personality
dreaming of whatever else will do
when dreams do anything but
i was or am happy here
sun-faced
a hank of worry
tilled lay over
or soak if
last one in the water’s a hog
or me accosted
whammed out of existing
there or streaky or opting out
valentining or a dud
wind or bragged about
be octoberly in the crushed leaves
i could’ve cured your care
studies show
that sentences don’t always finish
starting out
lured into a supper of tears
nameless
beer-legs rubbered and gumming a plug
meal’s over while
stranded
insolvent to a wish’s secondhand suit
besting it and almost bet against
but for now just hell-bent
for something and nothing
more
and more of and more of
nothing never more
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