And Then (From Dead Men’s Love)

* A reconstruction of Rupert Brooke’s Dead Men’s Love

There was a Poet, just like a Woman.
And they were dead.
They did not know the sun or that
their time had served
a filthy dust.

One old day, they clung to fire.
Kissing hands.
Broken feet, face-to-face.
Bed together
above hell’s streets.

On blue lips, an empty wind
chilled. Resting
breasts against short drains, emptying
surprise from


3 thoughts on “And Then (From Dead Men’s Love)

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