James Joyce

This is a site for ReJoycing. For all things Joycean.

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Falling off the Wall

I am the tenth green bottle. All silky smooth. I am not accidentally falling. I am only a green bottle, of course. Somewhere amongst the mess of bottles on the floor, there are nine other bottles, simply there. I can see my reflection in all of them. Smashed.

You walk as you feel lighter. You have left your mind at the wall. Leaving your coffee on the side, you are walking towards the wall.

The tenth green bottle is asking the doorman if she can leave now. It is not time for me to die.

When my neck is exposed it is shining.
The throat of the fluted length.
I have left my mind at the wall.

Toppling with my hands tied. The dark patch underneath as I lose my grip. The sway.

Your hands are gripping tight around my neck and I know it is all over.