Hawthorne now lives in my attic

Stoker beneath my bed,
Marx, Proudhon, Rand on the windowsill,
Dahl in the garden shed,
Pound, Bacon, Frost in the kitchen,
Miller, Rimbaud near the bath,
Kafka got lost in the passageway,
the toilet for Sexton, Woolfe, Plath.
Tomorrow I have some more moving to do
-- Tennyson, Wordsworth, Gray, Wilde,
Yeats, Owen, Hopkins, MacNeice, Hughes, Sassoon,
selected, complete, and compiled.

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