Apology To James Joyce

little Finnegan stepped
over the places where
things had a way of looking
rotten in the
sickly sun-

it was of no business to have sun then or of
no business to
be moveable, underfoot, for little Finnegan and
he smoked a snaky cigarette. lit an altar
afire for Joyce one of those store-
bought altars and the entire
teakwood not only the incense or a highschool-library
copy of "portrait-"


because if, he
figured, the sun was going to become
tagged and altogether
animalistic and literary there might as well
be a price on true religion too.

the meat in the ice box had gone horribly bad. it had to be thrown out not even the little birds wanted it they were about the sugarless water in the
stone monument where Joyce was buried in the backyard-

and little
Finnegan drowned in a swimming
pool. funny. it was september and the
swimming pool really should
have been covered at the
end of

august.