To resolve to read a book
the book being about Finnegan,
presumed by the title, a wake

or the tendency of an entire race
to rise against a circumstance.
To promise oneself to attend

to this grand derangement of
keenings, exclamations, coherent
only on the inside of a single soul.

To meet ambition with ambition.
To refuse to die unaccomplished
in the runny eye of a past professor.

All this importance of yesterday
freezes in an outdoor, pitiless
landscape of mid-January.  On hold

cold promises, wishes, Finnegans.
Even the harmless intentions dissolve,
become the enemy warmth indoors,
the collection beneath an afghan.

This thinking reed’s stalled thought:
one can always think again.

4 responses »

    • I don’t know about you, John, but I don’t think I will ever get through Finnegans Wake…and it doesn’t matter, of course. I do like to read random passages for the sheer language of it….I even understand what’s going on, sometimes, which could be worrisome. But this winter I have much more enjoyable reading to look forward to….in fact I expect a very special, long-awaited, delight of a book to arrive by post sometime this week! 🙂

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