A Prayer for James Joyce
Poolybacky, soofleshing dimily o'er whalepath, kenning our nighsride to ashehrnities, grant this him day our mornfille newmare; typette us not in darkling kittifishies; and lave us lightly ni ogs annirate; nor lent ere curite this airiwohning crepusquus. Gull his travails swiftly to wrist; he connicht alpemore. Wiss brunt offlic tion. Yrs navely, Apselorse (his chronic exegete). Uhmn.
SOURCE: James Joyce Quarterly, Vol. 7, No. 4 (Summer, 1970), p. 379.
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