dash

Bottle-Bank

bottle
              banks

Black-bile and green glass
Clear and amber scramble past
The gaping scraping open throat
Of the bottle-bankís sepulchral gloat.

Slide whoosh smash and tinkle
Stale dregs splash and sprinkle
The sweet and sour acrid smell
And sound of a liverís death-knell.

Raymond Hume

 

If you have any thoughts on this poem, Raymond Hume would be pleased to hear them.

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