Möbius Sonnet, on Finnegans Wake

a book that's filled with love and sex and puns.

See, there's a ladder, and a corpse, and more.
It's filled with neologisms galore.
The central motif: one broad river runs
all through this silly novel. Several score
of referents and allusions. No gore
that I remember. I forget. I'm dumb,
and not an English major, thank the Lord.
At end, your brain is spacey, very numb.

It's really Modernist, this book, because
it's written by James Joyce, a man who was
a genius, undergraduates are told.
His reputation, perhaps, was what sold
this novel. Maybe. Anyway, It's fun—