corpse of poetry

And this my humanity
My little humanity
Again my child
As with sweet angels
Die the beginning
Replete awakening
Sad work of life
All the core tooth wisers
Simply die again
In my arms again

I am not a poet.
I am a corpse of poetry.
I am an art, a bloody art
That has made it to the stages
That has made it to the open.
And spot on my hannons
I shall not want again.