Dreams are big black cats.

There are ghouls that come in waves,
the Sea- a grey sweet mother
snot green, scrotum tightening,
come and look, smell-

wax and rosewood
in the distance, death has not yet departed.

Waves rise along rock,
bile is collected in china plate.

The sea is grey, the china white, bile green,
he is black but won’t go yet to grey

though he did not come to knee.

On a bed death has already delivered
mother kicks buttercups off the quilt.

Beastly is death and it’s deliverance
and worse, when it will not take its leave.

There are ghouls sweeping in over the sea,
cruel chewers of corpses

while dead Dignam has yet to be dug down.

Black cats are big in dreams.

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JPEG image 175

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly. Inspired by Ulysses by James Joyce.

Bloomsday 16th June


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