Kurt Ravidas Poet Imagism

Talking With Joyce

The frowning light of my desk lamp, the voice
of hell dissolved in strongest alcohol,
my drunk and naked shadow on the wall…
The printed wiki photo of James Joyce, 
who died of stomach ulcer, shakes his head,
seeing I drink Laphroaig from the inkwell.
It is all right for you, James, you may well 
speak of addictive practices: you’re dead,
you’ve been a famous novelist but I
yet have to be a famous and to die.

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Gershon Wolf April 25, 2019 at 12:22 PM I love your chutzpah here,...which is really tit for tat, of course, given Joyce's sneering disregard for your circumstances... Nicely done, my friend. ~ Gershon Kurt Ravidas April 25, 2019 at 5:37 PM C'est la vie. It'll have to do. Thank you, Wolf)

Caren Krutsinger April 23, 2019 at 5:14 PM Oh, this is a FAV for me, Kurt. Kurt Ravidas April 23, 2019 at 5:36 PM Thanks, Caren. You're nice)