Sir Clementine

There's a funny story behind this one.

A tap on the shoulder of a bright Clementine,
basking, ripening,
in a mutiny of words.
He smiles blindly and speaks with his eyes,
falling, rotting,
a wingless bird.
Blanketed by sunlight but unable to grow,
a worm, a memory,
finds him with Poe.
He's desperate for love, knows not where to look,
so he puts his face
back,
back
in his lonely book.