Ashen Evening

Poem By Richard George

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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