Saturday, January 23, 2010

To James Joyce

Why did you write?
Squirming uneasily
Through the remains
Of an alien tongue.
Were you in search
Of an equal?
One who would walk
And linger with you;
Circling your errors,
Striking out your whims,
And marking your quirks
With vermilion ink.
Did you think
That the pen would suffice
For proof of erudition?
Or did you think
You could confide
In all who read
Without knowing that they did?

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