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Poe

a lyric elixir of death

 embalms
 the spindle spirits of your hour glass loves
 on moon spun nights

sets
 icicled canopy
 for corpses of poesy
 with roses and northern lights

 Where frozen nightingales in ilix aisles

 sing burial rights

—Mina Loy (Corpses and Geniuses, ‘Poe’)