We should not forget that wonderful poem by Austinite, the late Thomas Whitbread, titled GLUTTON:
Into the flaming peach she sped, Passing through fastness of flesh Down juicy channels. Her red head
Turned regularly, like a worm’s, Hale in its element of fire. She met the fruit of its own terms.
She tunneled into its embrace And sank her teeth into its flesh Utterly heedless of disgrace.
Then, when her seeking mouth had reached Its cold, hard core, she smiled like fire, So full, so fully self-impeached. — https://www.theparisreview.org/poetry/4794/glutton-thomas-whitbread
Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *
Comment *
Name
Email
Website
Thorne Webb Dreyer, Editor
Buy the Book
August 29, 2024
July 26, 2024
July 4, 2024
July 1, 2024
June 13, 2024
June 2, 2024
May 8, 2024
May 6, 2024
May 2, 2024
April 22, 2024
March 20, 2024
January 26, 2024
December 28, 2023
December 14, 2023
December 5, 2023
We should not forget that wonderful poem by Austinite, the late Thomas Whitbread, titled GLUTTON:
Into the flaming peach she sped,
Passing through fastness of flesh
Down juicy channels. Her red head
Turned regularly, like a worm’s,
Hale in its element of fire.
She met the fruit of its own terms.
She tunneled into its embrace
And sank her teeth into its flesh
Utterly heedless of disgrace.
Then, when her seeking mouth had reached
Its cold, hard core, she smiled like fire,
So full, so fully self-impeached.
— https://www.theparisreview.org/poetry/4794/glutton-thomas-whitbread