“Why the Shakespearean Sonnet?” Asked the Open-Mic Host
Here’s how my sonnet psychosis was born:
‘Gainst Hemingway I did commit a crime.
His gem, “For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn,”
I stole it. Then I shined it up with rhymes.
And my next victim: crazy Ezra Pound,
I smashed and grabbed his spanking new haiku.
Don’t blame me, what goes around comes around,
He robbed the old and claimed to, “Make it New.”
Delighted by my derring-do crime spree,
I craved crown jewels, so I snatched Shakespeare’s purse!
A sudden switcheroo: Now I’m not free
Entrapped by Will’s penitentiary of verse.
Confession time: James Joyce first stole my mind,
And history rhymes, so I too, steal in kind.
Art by Noah Davis
Bad Boy for Life, 2007
BELLO: (Coaxingly.) Come, ducky dear, I want a word with you, darling, just to administer correction. Just a little heart to heart talk, sweety. (Bloom puts out her timid head.) There’s a good girly now. (Bello grabs her hair violently and drags her forward.) I only want to correct you for your own good on a soft safe spot. How’s that tender behind? O, ever so gently, pet. Begin to get ready.
BLOOM: (Fainting.) Don’t tear my...
-Ulysses, James Joyce
Today’s Ezraku:
On the Wall of a Museum #6
Momma’s mouthless ass-whipping in a well-lighted room:
Sex switcheroo of a Bello-blighted Bloom.
Updated: Mar 10
Art by Pierre Bonnard
Le Pont du Carrousel à Paris, 1903
“Prrprr.
Must be the bur.
Fff! Oo. Rrpr.
Nations of the earth. No-one behind. She’s passed. Then and not till then.Tram kran kran kran. Good oppor. Coming. Krandlkrankran. I’m sure it’s the burgund. Yes. One, two. Let my epitaph be. Kraaaaaa. Written. I have.
Pprrpffrrppffff.
Done.”
- Ulysses, James Joyce
Today’s Ezraku:
On the Wall of a Museum #5
Bonnard’s unabridged backside to words spoken:
Bloom’s wind instrument, finally broken.