Nocturne, Virginia Hamilton Adair

Draw the hour
dark as a bruise

where neon shopfronts
jerk and implore

on-off, arrow-arrow
enter me, like any whore.

On streets of soot and stain
the first brushes of rain

daub jewels and holocausts
through violet exhausts

and the wet deepens like a dream
while souls in stereo

ferry the black and fiery stream.

It’s depressing to find out that none of her books are available in this city (or maybe I just haven’t found them?) because I quite like this. I’m curious towards her other poems.