If We’re Like Anything, it’s Lightning

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C-IkuJ_DDnI

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Lightning’s business is to devastate –

an immensity of pressure gets sufficiently

obstreperous to slash at what’s restraining it

to wrench it past itself and leap with it into

a chasm through what I imagine is exactly like

orgasm. I imagine this because I want it to feel

really, really good – to something anyway.

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I am accused of trading only in hyperbole.

Everything’s the most to me, the best to me,

the fullest or the emptiest, the most exacting

test to me of anyone’s perceptual acuity – my

tic of a reliance on an excess of exaggeration

only indicates vacuity – to anyone, at least,

who’s not the least like me, which no one is.

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It’s this. I’ve never healed. I’ve not been cured.

I haven’t ever felt the least assurance from

a single source that anything’s okay. Okay’s

a form of stasis. For which there is no basis.

The only cure I can construe is to exalt

and to exult in this – to be stunned by one’s

unknowing. How can one ever take a single

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thing for what it thinks it is? It’s never normal.

There is no normal. There’d have to be a thing

exactly like another to support reporting

it was normal. There is only the immutability

of mutability. I don’t think I ever found this

terrible. I could only think it was inordinately

fun that everything’s the best, the worst,

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the strangest and completely unforeseen,

the only one – another glimpse into a spasm

that can change the whole shebang again

and always does, will always do, and all of it

if you are paying it attention alters you,

kicks you out and through another door.

What else can it do? What else are we for?

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To Get What You Deserve

https://youtu.be/bFKIBtj-nXQ

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Do the thing that can’t be done.

It’s simple, she began.

But only do it if it’s fun,

her admonition ran.

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Use impossibility

as soap to wash your hands.

And take on imbecility

until it understands

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you don’t yet know that God

is made entirely of silliness,

and you require a prod

to find a navigable willingness

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to barbecue life on a spit

and summon up the nerve

to eat delicious bits of it

to get what you deserve.

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Mrs. Bloom’s Hat

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfi7MMYUBeI

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Mrs. Bloom’s hat – yes, yes, yes – and a yo!

What other recourse for old Leopold’s Molly?

Get even with Steven! Put Daedalus in a chapeau –

No arrow or bow: spill the buffoon with the folly

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of making him clown in a crown of subjection.

Looks just as good on a fellow as on a grande dame,

and would soundly forestall his arcane predilection

for folderol Steven thought had more aplomb…

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but please end this siege of egregiously terrible crap

in this awful un-ballad, cursed verse, this invalid

excuse for besmirching this Mount Ararat of a cap

in these dunderhead heaps of word salad! –

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let’s not be undone by – just done with – all that.

Now close in, surround it. This ain’t for sissies.

Don’t tell me you don’t want your head in that hat:

Has it the key to the lock on the heart of Ulysses?

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Or maybe it’s Dolly Bloom’s topper.

Six of one, half a dozen of the other?

Wouldn’t that be a whopper!

Dolly’s first cousin to Leo’s grandmother.

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