This poem was posted here in 2007, just about a year before Harry died. It was in the form of an email, not one of our usual wacky postcards. I always think of it on Hallowe'en, though. I think I'm supposed to.
Fingers Like Nosferatu
Body by Baron Victor Von F Luck by Loki Going forward day and night. American Dreamer Algerian Detective Holed up on Desolation Row. In the Heartbreak Hotel. Where less brave spirits have checked out long ago. His voice sounds there still. Disturbing the dust, and any who would dare listen.
We are patterns, persisting. Yes, indeed, HE Fassl.