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There factory sirens begin, / infinitely long / droning, to yawn

 

“The Dead Liebknecht” Rudolf Leonhard, Der tote Liebknecht, 1919

 

His corpse lies throughout the city,

in every courtyard, on every street.

Every room

is matte from the flowing of his blood.

 

There factory sirens begin,

infinitely long

droning, to yawn,

to echo hollowly throughout the city.

 

And with a gleam

on bright

rigid teeth

his corpse begins

to grin.

 

Hugh MacDiarmid

 

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