Lethes nightingale
Keats,
the Heath
the staircase in Rome
Hampstead Heath house
the unicorn sneaks away
and all the "Souls of poets dead and gone"
and the poetrysouls of Hades
are now withered, faded, like bones in a museum,
gnawed on by weary mice
their homes are now museums where books lie,
behind ropes:

Bronte, Shelley, Byron and George Bernard Shaw
the broken lung, the broken life
the broken death
you died in Rome, TB,
Fanny Brawne recieved a hopeful note;
when you are two weeks dead
don´t breathe on me, you said,
it comes like ice
moist italian clay
your life

mosaic
deathgoddess
a religion of death
was it an ode?
that took your life away?

"We hate poetry that has a palpable design on us"
you were quoted

Oh dear Keats allready older than you were
did you detest death when it came to you?
Were you "half in love with easeful death"?
An ode to a nightingale,
a grecian urn.

~*~

Keats
goodbye, Poet.