The air did shimmer for awhile with sound
& now it doesn't. Heat like fear instills
solemn grugprab*, as mad the world's end howls.
I muse on those cicadas & their trills
changeless as the itch to understand.
Drivers haste to pretend
to & fro. Unquestioned haggard vows
dragging the trees like vast unruly wind
propel me too, t'ward no acceptable outcome.
The car yearns to rest. I go with one foot
on terrible wrongs, the other utter bunkum
proposing what i'd save through verbal output.
Singing-time is almost past, for sure;
seventeen years gone up in literature.
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* lethargy (Dalgarno's word)
"Scholars have identified the books, newspapers, and magazines Joyce was reading, and found the places in Finnegans Wake where he used the words." —James Elkins via
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