Dylan thomas

In reference to this New Yorker review of Dylan Thomas,

Dylan Thomas I
 
poetic vomit, permanently staining
the floor of the White Horse
the poet speared his screams with gin
spilled his thoughts convulsively
reflexively upon the barren
wood floor scars
of yuppie tourists conspicuous shuffle to come
press the load of those words
upon your floor
bruised monuments in desperate need of some bleach

Dylan Thomas II

 White Horse
vomitorium
the breath stale of a poets mouth
lingers, mopping resistant


 why even make effort
We too can drink enough
fierce liquor to render
our hearts impotent