Ashen Evening Poem by Richard George
Ashen Evening
Rating: ★3.0
Grey. I need hot vervain
for this ague of Englishness;
gasoline nectar
in an amber womb I lift
to the lamp, a Conquistador.
Lines Lorca, Lowry down
to the mass grave of memory.
The full-moon-nippled puta is on guard here.
She slurs 'Burn me, trier,
and burn the wreckage'.
I wake on a playa.
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4/18/2024 9:39:17 AM # 1.0.0.1119
