Once upon a night so dreary, bloodshot eyes, and mind so weary,
Over many an empty pints that lay fallen on the floor –
While I hungered, stomach grumbling, suddenly I heard a stumbling,
As of some one loudly rumbling, rumbling just outside my door.
“Tis paranoia,” I stuttered, “stumbling just outside my door –
Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember the seeds I’ll harvest this November;
As I add Tequila to the blender spying the margarita salt I once sought for.
Eagerly I wished the ringing, - and my dealer’s call it bringing
4:20 special, he’ll get my meaning, - But my Call I.D. says it’s Lenore –
But who is this, and why’s she calling, I know no one named Lenore –
At 555-6894!

And the frozen foil unfolding in anticipation of what it’s holding
Tongue dissolving – problem solving bringing sights not seen before,
So that now, to pass the waiting for my trip, I’m contemplating,
What if visitors come entreating entrance at my door –
What does that mean, “entreating entrance at my door?”; -
I’ve dropped three hits, and have no more.”

Presently I began toking, on a joint that begged for smoking,
Still now I felt the acid had started working ever more;
But the fact is I was tripping, and my mind the trip was gripping,
And so clumsily I went slipping, slipping to my own front door,
Then I reached out and that is when I opened wide the door;
“Damn it’s dark,” I said no more.

Deep into the darkness dazing, long I stood with my joint blazing,
Doubting, that my phone would bring the call that I’d adore;
But then with a modem’s wail, my PC boasted, “You’ve got mail!”
And logging on to AOL, an Instant Message came across the board.
And then I shuttered, as I muttered the sender’s name, it was Lenore!
From 555-6894!

Back into the room I’m turning, locked the door, an incense burning,
Soon again I heard a rumbling somewhere just outside my door.
Thinking I just want to smoke this bowl, until it cashes,
Find out where the hell my hash is, and watch Scooby-Doo on channel 4 –
What time does Scooby come on channel 4.
Concentrate, Who’s at my door?

Staring at the door in silence, fearing outside threats of violence.
So for protection I reached for the melting .44.
Shaggy says, “I got your back, if you give me a Scooby snack!”
My mind is dancing way off track, as I reach out to grab the door.
The acid’s strong I cannot ignore,
The three hits I dropped before.

But the door is slowly turning, handle melting, hinges burning
So I slowly back away and sit for I can stand no more.
Suddenly a sound came creeping, an incessant digital beeping,
For the cause my eyes went peeping, as I crawled along the floor.
It was my pager beeping, growing louder than before;
It’s from 555-6894!?

Oh my god, I must be dreaming, my body aching, mind is screaming,
“Who the fuck is this person calling me evermore?”
I dial the phone, no hesitation, my forehead releasing perspiration
In suspenseful anticipation, “Let me speak to Lenore!”
“I’m sorry, who are you calling for?”
“Oh, is this 555-6894?”

And then the line began breaking, the voice that came from it was shaking,
Announcing and denouncing the existence of Lenore!
And in a voice that sounded frail, and followed by a ghostly wail,
Came a warning that turned me pale, and sent me stumbling to the floor.
It said, “This warning came to us from Lenore!
Beware the Cravin’!” and it said no more!

Dropping the phone, I was reeling. My arms and legs were losing feeling
As a coldness came upon me that I could not stifle or ignore.
The voice from the phone began to echo, the fear my mind could not let go
And like I should have done from the get go, I ran straight for the door.
However, I did not first open up the door.
Unconscious, I lay on the floor.

And when the morning came around, I woke up laying on the ground
And gripping in my hand I found, the bud that I was hoping for.
Searching my mind with keen detection, trying to make a vague connection
Or any hint or recollection, of the elusive night before.
But the only memory I’m savin, from the night before,
Is “Beware the Cravin’,” and nothing more!

But the cravin’ still is brewing, in my heart it’s forever stewing
Perhaps there is no heeding this warning from before.
In my blood I feel it surging, beyond any hope of purging.
My body and my mind are urging me to stay fucked up evermore!
Perhaps one day I will end up dying on the floor,
But ignore the cravin’, Nevermore!

(10/31/98)