This account of several lower class citizens of Dublin describes their activities and tells what some of them were thinking one day in 1904.
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The heaventree of stars hung with humid nightblue fruit
… and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes
A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.
He…saw the dark tangled curls of his bus floating, floating hair of the stream around the limp father of thousands, a languid floating flower
Perfumes of embraces all him assailed. With hungered flesh obscurely he mutely craved to adore.
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