Starting And Ending With Lungs

You see before you the two lungs
which once belonged to John Keats.
He was not a member of the Beats.

This here is Frank O’Hara’s crushed body
run over by a dune buggy driven by John Ashbery.
The New York School of Poetry was never cherry.

This is Sylvia Plath’s body
still stinking of natural gas.
She never confessed greatness in Lowell’s class.

These are Emily Dickinson’s shoes,
God, she had small feet.
She was some sour minister’s sweet.

These are Shelley’s lungs
filled with Mediterranean water.
Nearby, Lord Byron drank wine from a bottle.