Arrangement by rage
of human rubble

the false-eternal statues of the slain
until they putrefy.

Tossed on a pile of dead,
one woman
her body hacked to utter beauty
oddly by murder,

attains the absolute smile
of dispossession:

the marble pause before the extinct haven
Death’s drear
erasure of fear,

the unassumed 
composure

the purposeless peace
sealing the faces
of corpses —

Corpses are virgins.