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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. Life Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Ironic Zink

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Gershon Wolf

Date: 4/25/2019 12:22:00 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
Date: 4/25/2019 5:37:00 PM

C'est la vie. It'll have to do. Thank you, Wolf)

Caren Krutsinger

Date: 4/23/2019 5:14:00 PM

Oh, this is a FAV for me, Kurt.

Kurt Ravidas
Date: 4/23/2019 5:36:00 PM

Thanks, Caren. You're nice)