BY LORRIES ALONG SIR JOHN ROGERSON'S QUAY past Nichols' the undertaker's. Eleven, daresay.Sent his right hand with slow grace over his hair: Where was the chap I saw in that picture somewhere? Ah, in the dead sea, floating on his back;It's a law like that. Curriculum. Crack.It's the force of gravity of the earth is the weight.Per second, per second. Post office. Too late.Eleven, is it? I only heard it last night. What's wrong with him? Dead. And, he filled up, all right.Chloroform. Laudanum. Sleeping draughts. Phlegm. Better leave him the paper and get shut of him.
*Lines in this found poem are taken in order between erasures from “The Lotus Eaters” episode of Ulysses by James Joyce.