Explore "Lamentable Ode by Albert Ponting" by Dylan Thomas on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I, I, my own gauze phantom am, / My head frothing under my arm, / The buttocks of Venus for my huge davenport.
I orgillous turn, burn, churn,
As his rubbery bosom curds my perspiring arm- / The gust of my ghost, I mean- / And he wears no woman-sick, puce, and oriflammed a brow / That, yes, yes, my hair screamed aloud / Louder than death's orchestra or sirocco.
The urge of the purge of the womb of the worm / I renege in the flail-like failing of / The detumescent sun.
This my crepuscular palimpsest is: / I am so greatly him that lazarhouses and such
Lascivious lodges of the unloved / Peel like pomegranates at my nasal touch / And Balham faints in a scalecophidian void.
To him who broods in the nest of my arches, / Fallen or Charing Cross's, like a big bumbling bird,
Before the metropolitan horde / Funicling darkly lairward / I lay the most holy gifts of my spilt flesh: / Far beyond comprehension of golden asinine error / I raise to the mirror the maggots and lumps of my terror.