Gedicht
A. B. Jackson
Elvis
Elvis
Elvis
High noon, Graceland:the risen Elvis
rolls away his rhinestone,
his burger, his Vegas.
To the few, he croons,
the gold lamé
spirit upon him, heavily
sideburned in black leather
or whistling Dixie.
Gretsch guitars twang:
the End of Days
follows on that note,
our saviour a surf song,
the flooded sand.
© 2007, A. B. Jackson
Publisher: First published on PIW,
from \'Apocrypha\'
Publisher: First published on PIW,
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Elvis
High noon, Graceland:the risen Elvis
rolls away his rhinestone,
his burger, his Vegas.
To the few, he croons,
the gold lamé
spirit upon him, heavily
sideburned in black leather
or whistling Dixie.
Gretsch guitars twang:
the End of Days
follows on that note,
our saviour a surf song,
the flooded sand.
Elvis
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